


Two Stars in Time

by ArlenianChronicles



Series: Of Maedhros and the Twin Princes of Doriath [5]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Art, Brothers, Digital Art, Family, Family Feels, Fanart, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Foster Family, Found Family, Gen, Not Beta Read, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, Twins, all art is done by me, all relationships here are platonic, or is it lol, please ask for permission if you want to repost my art, this is my first humongous Silm fic, unedited too, unless they're canon couples
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:00:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 80,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23290585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArlenianChronicles/pseuds/ArlenianChronicles
Summary: While undergoing a hunting test, Elurín and Eluréd have a strange setback and wake up under the Two Trees. Lost in a land of old, there is only one person whom they can think of to search for: Adar Maedhros.A time travel AU within my AU, In Elin Gelebrin, where Maedhros saves the twins after the Second Kinslaying.
Relationships: Amras & Maedhros | Maitimo, Amrod & Maedhros | Maitimo, Celegorm | Turcafinwë & Maedhros | Maitimo, Eluréd & Elurín (Tolkien), Eluréd & Elurín (Tolkien) & Original Male Character(s), Fingon | Findekáno & Maedhros | Maitimo, Fëanor | Curufinwë & Maedhros | Maitimo, Maedhros | Maitimo & Eluréd & Elurín (Tolkien), Maedhros | Maitimo & Eluréd (Tolkien), Maedhros | Maitimo & Elurín (Tolkien), Maedhros | Maitimo & Original Male Character(s), Maedhros | Maitimo & Sons of Fëanor
Series: Of Maedhros and the Twin Princes of Doriath [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1488278
Comments: 461
Kudos: 321





	1. Gold and Silver Droplets

**Author's Note:**

> Well, here it is, guys. My first long Silmarillion fic, holy moly. An important thing to note is that I'll be including my artwork in this fic (though not in all the chapters), not to mention artwork that uses my second designs of Maedhros and the twins, not the first. (check out The Art of In Elin Gelebrin; the evolution of my art there pretty much explains it lol)  
> The second designs are based on how I imagined the Silmarillion characters to look like if they were Elves from my fantasy stories. That's why the twins are described to have white, or silver-white hair, instead of just plain silver hair. And it's also why Maedhros now has golden freckles lol  
> On that note, I hope you guys enjoy this fic, and I hope it provides you entertainment since we're all self-isolating! Stay safe out there! :)

Amras and his hunters watched.

That was what they said they would do. Elurín could not see them as he and Eluréd made their way through the forest, but he was sure they were in the treetops somewhere, watching.

Underneath the lush, green boughs, Elurín and his twin moved with care, keeping their hoods over their heads to hide their silver-white hair. Elurín’s hands shook occasionally. It was only a test, he reminded himself, a test to see how much they had learned. If things got out of hand, Amras and his hunters were there to help.

So far the test was going well. Their job was to track a stag, but not kill it. The only weapons they had were the hunting daggers that Amras gave to them years before. They were not yet finished with their archery training, but Maedhros planned to test their skill at it in the summer. If he deemed them well-off, they would move into combat techniques.

Elurín sometimes felt overwhelmed with how fast they were moving with the sessions. All these tests and training, and he had not even turned thirteen!

Eluréd halted suddenly, and Elurín instinctively did as well. His heart pounded. What did his brother sense? Elurín strained his ears and held his breath, listening for anything.

And then he heard it: the soft footfalls that he immediately recognized as a stag’s. Nervous excitement leaped in Elurín’s chest. Maedhros was surely going to be pleased by their success! And if Amras and his hunters shot it down, they might even have it for the evening meal! Elurín could very well imagine the sight of the roasted stag, the aroma of spices and butter wafting through the air …

Eluréd nudged his arm, and Elurín shook himself free of his thoughts. He could not get distracted now. They had a test to pass, and he was determined to not let Amras down.

He followed behind Eluréd as they moved closer to the sound of footfalls, hiding behind bush and tree trunk. He could sense his brother’s excitement rolling off him in waves. Eluréd had been eager even before they left the fortress to begin the test.

Elurín sighed quietly. At least Eluréd was not afraid. Elurín did not recognize this part of the woods, but he knew it was not far from Amon Ereb. For the test to truly work, according to Amras, they would have to be in unfamiliar territory, but certainly not beyond the patrols’ reach. This was the safest option, as safe as it could be.

_Amras is watching. There is no need to worry._

There would be more to worry about when the next test came: Elurín would have to hunt on his own to demonstrate his skills. He would not have Eluréd to help him. The thought made his stomach twist.

A rustle of leaves reached Elurín’s ears, and he ducked behind a gnarled trunk. Looking out, he saw a green clearing bathed in dappled spring sunlight. On the opposite end of the clearing was the stag. Its head was bowed to graze, its magnificent antlers turned pale gold in the light. Elurín could see the powerful muscles flexing over the stag’s flank and legs.

Beside him, Eluréd shifted forward on his hands and knees, keeping close to bushes and other vegetation as he moved around the clearing. Elurín followed him, yet he hesitated as they got nearer to where the stag was. Surely this was close enough. What was Eluréd doing?

He brushed his hand against Eluréd’s ankle. His brother looked back at him, a frown on his face. Elurín shook his head. “Too close,” he whispered, quieter than a breath.

It was Eluréd’s turn to shake his head. “Too far,” he whispered back, and continued on his way.

If they had been in Amon Ereb, Elurín would have stamped his foot. He dearly wanted to do that now, but could not. Why must Eluréd push the bounds? They might be five – no _ten_ feet away from the stag, but that was surely close enough.

Amras was going to stop Eluréd. Elurín was certain of it. His brother was now hiding behind another bush, keeping an eye on the stag’s movement, but the stag remained where it was.

Elurín exhaled slowly and crawled up to his brother’s side, relieved that Eluréd went no further.

Eluréd offered him a grin, and Elurín could not help a small chuckle. They had done it! They successfully tracked the stag, though admittedly it had taken a good hour or two of the morning … Or was it three?

The stag suddenly lifted its head, looking around. It could not see them, or at least, Elurín hoped that it could not. Its ivory antlers shone as they passed through shafts of sunlight from overhead.

Then the stag looked in their direction, and Elurín’s heart leapt into his throat. Before he could do something – tell Eluréd to move over, call for Amras, or perhaps run – the stag bolted right at them.

Elurín thought he heard a shout that might have been Eluréd’s, or even Amras’, but before he knew it, he was flying backward with a cry, and everything went dark.

...

...

...

Something pounded in the back of Elurín’s head.

It did not hurt terribly, but it was enough that he wanted to do something about it. At times like these, he usually went to the healers for a solution. When he was younger, both he and Eluréd would go to Maedhros for help. Even now they sometimes went to him when they had no solutions at all, and he always helped them find one.

Elurín shifted in his … bed? No, it felt like grass. It smelled like grass, earthy and fresh, as though it had just finished raining.

Yet at the same time, it smelled odd. Amon Ereb’s grass did not smell so … clean and sweet. And there was that muffled dripping sound, as though he was lying under a tree that had just been rained on. Was he back in Amon Ereb?

There was only one way to find out.

Elurín opened his eyes just as a silver droplet splattered on his forehead, followed by a golden one.


	2. Valmar

“Eluréd?” Elurín said, voice wavering as he wiped the droplets from his face. He was not imagining it, was he? These raindrops … They were truly gold and silver … 

“Elurín! I am here.”

Elurín looked around and wilted with relief upon seeing his twin beside him. Yet his relief soon turned into surprise as he looked closer. “Eluréd, what – You are covered in golden rain!”

Eluréd frowned and glanced down at himself. His hunting clothes were indeed damp on his shoulders, chest, and leggings, and Elurín suspected that his own looked much the same.

It was strange, though. The damp patches on Eluréd’s clothes seemed to shine in the sunlight as he moved …

_Sunlight …_

Elurín dared to look up. His eyes widened and he gasped. “Eluréd! Look, look!”

His brother followed his gaze. “That is …!”

High above them wove great branches, gold and silver, twisting and curling elegantly around each other, as though in embrace. Elurín followed the path of the silver branches with his eyes, eventually finding the trunk that they were attached to. A silver trunk, larger than any trunk of a tree that he had ever seen. As he watched in disbelief, dew from the leaves of the silver tree fell onto the grass, and onto Elurín’s head.

He wiped the top of his silver-white hair. The silver dew glimmered on his fingers in the light of the silver tree.

Beside him, Eluréd stood up, seeming not to notice as golden dew fell onto his head. “Elurín,” he said slowly, “these trees … they are …”

Elurín stood up as well, gazing at the silver tree. “Telperion,” he whispered, remembering what their tutor in Amon Ereb, Astorren, had taught them. “It has to be. Telperion. And the golden one –”

“Laurelin,” Eluréd said breathlessly.

Elurín could hardly speak another word, not even to agree with his twin, captivated as he was by the beauty around them. Both Trees appeared to touch the sky. Their branches stretched out, forming such a great canopy that Elurín could almost believe that they were in a forest. Light danced from Laurelin’s flowers and Telperion’s leaves, reaching out in every direction. The light touched the damp patches on Elurín’s clothes, casting him in silver and gold.

“But the Trees were destroyed,” Eluréd murmured.

Elurín blinked. Destroyed … Yes, they were destroyed. Astorren said so, as had Maedhros, and Maglor, and Amras. So why were they standing here, living and bright? Was this a dream?

It did not feel like one. Elurín pinched his arm, but nothing happened.

“Let me try something,” Eluréd said, and he went over to Laurelin, his hand outstretched. Elurín followed and held out his hand as well.

Their palms were just a handspan from Laurelin’s golden trunk. They exchanged a glance, braced themselves, and pressed their hands against the bark.

It was solid, smooth and warm, and as real as could be. Excitement bubbled within Elurín’s chest. “Just wait till we tell Adar! And Maglor and Amras!”

Eluréd frowned at that, then looked around. Elurín’s brow furrowed as he watched his brother. “Eluréd? What is it?”

“The Two Trees are only in Valinor,” Eluréd said. “Remember? They grew and died there … here.” He turned Elurín around. “Look. I do not think we are in Beleriand anymore.”

Elurín swallowed and looked. A great, green plain stretched out before them, and it became apparent to him that they were standing at the top of a large hill. He saw what appeared to be a city a distance away, white and shining in the light, more lovely than even the fortress upon Amon Ereb, and larger too.

Nearer still was a large ring of stones, about halfway between the city and the Two Trees.

He could not see Amon Ereb anywhere.

“We are in Valinor? No, that is not possible.” Elurín began to tremble. “We must be dreaming. Valinor is closed off to us.”

“To the Noldor,” Eluréd corrected him. “Not us. But how did we get here?”

Fragments of their history lessons came back to Elurín. He remembered Astorren’s words of flight of the Noldor, their rebellion, and the Kinslaying at Alqualondë …

It had all taken place here, in Valinor, if they were truly here. He looked ahead, toward the mountains in the far distance. There was a gap between them where a silver streak of water could be seen. Elurín had seen the maps in Maedhros’ library. Just beyond that gap in the mountains was Alqualondë. 

_The Kinslaying …_

“Eluréd,” he said, shaking, “I want to go home.”

His twin laid his hands on Elurín’s shoulders, grounding him. “Do not worry, Elurín,” he said firmly. “We will get home. First we will go down this hill. You need only follow me.”

Elurín took a deep, steadying breath, and nodded. Then, hand-in-hand, they began to make their way down the great hill of Ezellohar.

Laurelin was waning. Elurín remembered what Astorren had said about telling the time by the light of the Trees. A day lasted for twelve hours. One tree waxed for seven hours, then waned for another seven. At the end of its waning, the other tree began to wax, and for one hour there would be the Mingling of the Lights. And so the process repeated. The Mingling happened twice in a day, representing dawn and dusk. Judging by what Elurín could see of Laurelin now, it appeared to be a sort of afternoon.

He turned his gaze from the Two Trees and faced forward. They were now halfway to the great city. They adjusted their path to move around the ring of stones up ahead. “That must be Máhanaxar,” Eluréd murmured, voice quivering.

The Ring of Doom. Elurín remembered it from Astorren’s lessons. It was situated just outside the great city’s western gates – the meeting place for the Valar to hold council and pass judgement. As they passed the Ring, Elurín could not help but quail at the sight of the tall, intimidating stones, and between them, the brief glimpses of the Valar’s thrones. Even from a distance Elurín felt a ripple in the air, or a rising energy, as though the power of the Valar still surrounded the Ring despite their absence. He was glad to look away once he and Eluréd were past the Ring, though he could still feel the tingling of hidden power.

Elurín kept his gaze straight ahead. The great city was steadily getting closer and closer, and butterflies fluttered in his stomach.

“Valmar,” he said, holding his brother’s hand tightly. “The city of the Vanyar.”

“Just think,” Eluréd said, eyes bright. “We might see the Elves of old! However we came to be here, it does not seem to be an illusion.”

Elurín agreed with that. It all felt so _real_. He could smell the sweetness of the grass on the plains, could feel the gentle breeze on his face, and the warmth of the Trees’ light on his hair.

“Once we are in the city, we will look for aid,” Eluréd said. “Everything will be sorted out.”

Elurín nodded, feeling calmer than before. Eluréd was always so confident. He got it from Maedhros, no doubt. The thought made him smile, but then a new thought came to him, and his heart pounded. “Eluréd, if we are in Valinor, then Adar is not here.”

Eluréd slowed in his walking. He glanced over his shoulder at the Trees, then turned back to face Valmar. “Elurín, Adar was here when the Two Trees were still alive.”

Elurín’s eyes widened. “You mean …”

“We will find out for certain when we get to the city,” Eluréd said, starting up his walk again. “The first thing I will do is ask for the date.”

There were walls around Valmar, yet its golden gates were wide open. One moment they were walking on grass, and in the next Elurín found that the ground was paved with white stone. He stared in awe at his surroundings, taking in that which he had only heard in tales at bedtime. Houses and towers stood tall and proud, built of white stone, but with roofs cast in gold and doors like polished bronze. Paths that gleamed silver wove along the sides of the street that Elurín and Eluréd walked upon. Lush green trees grew here and there, blooming with flowers and bursting with fruits.

In all of this, Elurín could hear music and laughter carried on the breeze, in a language he could not fully understand, but it made him joyful and eager to dance. He forgot his own dew-splashed appearance with his worn hunting clothes. Somewhere in the distance, the sound of many bells mingled: large, heavy bells with deep rolling gongs, and little bells that tinkled and chimed. _City of Many Bells indeed,_ Elurín thought.

As they moved deeper into the city, they began to see Elves everywhere. Elurín gazed openly at them, thinking that he had never seen more beautiful ones in his life. They were tall (though not as tall as Maedhros), with golden hair that curled or fell like curtains below their waists. Some wore braids threaded with gold and silver, while others had free-flowing locks hung with little tassels and gems.

And their robes! Even the Noldor in Amon Ereb did not wear such vibrant colours. Elurín felt as though he might go blind from looking, but he wanted to see as much as he could. Heavy velvets and lace trailed to the floor, while the Elves’ sleeves were puffed and intricately embroidered. And what was more – they wore high collars with lace that spilled like foam from the hem. Pinks and blues, golds and teals and purples, Elurín saw so many colours that he felt rather dizzy. 

_These are the Vanyar,_ Elurín thought, giddiness filling him to the brim. Eluréd was right: they were truly seeing the Elves of old!

The amount of laughter and chatter rose as Elurín and Eluréd entered a large space. A marketplace, Elurín guessed, but it was not worn or weary or muted like the one in Amon Ereb. Colourful stalls and bazaars were set up along the street, and Elurín saw an all-manner of wares and products. Waves of cloth and silk and tapestries, gleaming goblets and other trinkets, the latest fashions … Not to mention the delicious aroma of freshly baked bread that made Elurín’s stomach rumble. It was just too much to take in all at once.

“Who will we ask?” he said to Eluréd. “There are so many here.”

Eluréd glanced around and pointed to a bazaar that was selling vases and dishes and lovely little sculptures. “What about that one?”

Elurín thought that anyone was better than none, so they went over to the bazaar. The Vanya there was dressed in silver robes, and Elurín had a feeling that these robes were supposed to be more “humble” than that of the other Vanyar he had seen.

The Vanya smiled at them as they came up to his bazaar, though Elurín noticed the brief look of surprise on the Elf’s face. No doubt it was because he and his brother looked different in appearance. The Vanyar here had either bronze or fair skin, deep or pale gold hair. Elurín and Eluréd bore the traits of their Sindarin heritage, though their hair was the rare silver-white that Thingol and their mother Nimloth once had.

“ _Alatúlie,_ ” the Vanya said to them. “ _Essenya Cambamíro ná_.”

 _Quenya._ Elurín breathed deeply, trying to calm the sudden flutters in his stomach. He knew how to speak Quenya, Astorren had taught them and the Fëanorians had practiced with them. It was no problem speaking Quenya, especially if there was no ban here like there was in Beleriand.

Eluréd cleared his throat. “ _Mai omenina,_ ” he said carefully. _Well met._ Then he continued, in fluid Quenya, “We have a question.”

The Vanya, Cambamíro, arched a fair eyebrow, but inclined his head. “How may I help?”

“What is the current year?”

“1495,” Cambamíro replied. “Did your parents not tell you?”

Elurín and Eluréd exchanged a glance. “We were too busy playing,” Elurín offered in an apologetic manner, and the Vanya shook his head good-naturedly.

Elurín’s attention was drawn to the chatter at another bazaar nearby. The sound of Vanyarin Quenya was like music to his ears, though he noted that there were some differences from the Quenya he was taught. Some words sounded just slightly different, and he was just about to put his finger on it –

“... is planning a festival at Taniquetil,” a lady was saying. “Everybody is invited.”

“Even Lord Finwë and his sons?” another asked.

“Unfortunately so.”

“I would rather stay home. What if Prince Fëanáro draws a blade on his brother again?”

Elurín inhaled sharply. _Fëanáro._ Fëanor!

It matched what Cambamíro said. Year 1495 of the Trees … Elurín cast his thoughts back to his history lessons, trying to remember the dates and times of events.

He turned back to his brother and the Vanya merchant. He had to make sure. “Excuse me,” he said in Quenya, hoping that his pronunciation was correct. “We – my brother and I – heard that there was some trouble with Prince Fëanáro.” A shadow seemed to pass over the Vanya’s face. “Would you happen to know about it?”

“Indeed,” Cambamíro said. “I am surprised you did not hear of it. “The Noldorin prince drew a sword on his brother Nolofinwë, and now he is living out his banishment in Formenos, up north.”

 _Formenos._ It matched what Elurín knew from his history lessons. And if Fëanor was there, then his sons were also there, and … 

Adar Maedhros. He would be there!

Eluréd seemed to realize the same thing at the same time. “Do merchants go to Formenos for trade?”

“ _I_ have no plans to go there,” Cambamíro said, “but there are some in Tirion who do go.”

“Are you going to Tirion?”

“Perhaps. Why?”

“Can we come with you?” Eluréd asked.

“What of your parents, little one?”

“We, er, got a little lost,” Eluréd said, which was not untrue. “But our home is there.”

“Then how did you come to be here, in Valmar?”

Elurín and Eluréd remained silent. What were they to say? Surely nothing good would come out of arousing suspicion. What if Cambamíro found out that they had no family? What would he do then? 

“Hmm.” The Vanya regarded them for a moment. “You are Noldorin? I recognize that dialect of yours.”

Of course. Elurín and Eluréd knew Noldorin Quenya. And even as Cambamíro spoke, Elurín realized that he had said “Noldor” differently. Everyone in Amon Ereb pronounced it as _Ñoldor._

“Yes, we are Noldorin through our – Atar,” Eluréd said.

Cambamíro looked at them for a moment more, and then nodded. “Very well. You can come with me to Tirion. But you must tell me where your parents are so I can take you directly to them.”

Elurín sighed with relief. “Thank you, kind sir!”

They remained at Cambamíro’s bazaar, watching as his wares were steadily sold. Eventually the Vanyarin Elves dispersed, and the merchants at the market began to pack up what wares they had left. Elurín and Eluréd helped Cambamíro to pack up his supplies into a wagon. Then Cambamíro set them on either side of him at the front, and clucked his horse into a walk down the street.

Laurelin was still waxing, her light steadily growing dim, yet still bathing them in soft golden light. As they passed by gardens and fountains and more lovely houses, Elurín asked, “Do you not live here? Where will you stay in Tirion?”

“I have lodgings there,” Cambamíro said, “And their forges are better than the ones here.”

“You crafted these sculptures?” Eluréd glanced over his shoulder at the leftover wares in the wagon.

“Indeed. I wanted to learn sculpture as a child, and so I apprenticed at Mahtan’s forge.”

Elurín blinked. _Mahtan_. That was familiar. He met Eluréd’s gaze, thinking hard … 

And then it hit him. Grandfather of Maedhros! If they went to Mahtan, surely they would get help to reach Formenos where Maedhros was!

“Cambamíro,” Elurín said carefully. “I have heard of Mahtan’s forge. Is it truly the greatest of all forges?”

The Vanya chuckled. “Truly it is, even among all the Noldorin forges.”

“I would dearly like to see it,” Elurín said in earnest. He could see that Eluréd was paying close attention to the conversation.

“I will be passing the forge in any case, so you will be able to see it then,” Cambamíro said. “It will be a while before we reach Tirion, so you may rest for now.”

Elurín nodded and leaned against the backrest. It was a comfy seat, more so than the wagons in Amon Ereb. The Elves there could not afford the time to make everything comfortable, not when resources were low and there was Morgoth to contend with. But here in this time, everything was pleasant and beautiful. It was a lot to wrap his head around. No deaths had taken place yet, no rebellions, no Kinslayings …

He shivered and focused on the sight of Tirion on the horizon. They were going to find Maedhros, and everything would be alright again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've set up a schedule to post once a week on Monday, so you guys hopefully won't have to wait weeks and months XD If something does come up, though, I'll do my best to let you all know!  
> Also, the descriptions of clothes and appearance come from my designs for the Elves, which are based on the designs of my elves from my stories. So if Thingol's hair is a rare silver-white, it's because white hair is rare among my elves, and it went into his design ^^; I hope that makes sense lol  
> Oh, and please forgive me for not being able to draw cities properly lmaoo XDD


	3. Of Distant Relations

Elurín thought that Tirion would be more familiar to him, mostly because it was home to the Noldor as Amon Ereb’s fortress was. He soon found that he was wrong.

Bridges criss-crossed over canals, and towers rose to the sky. The houses and terraces were of white stone, gleaming in Telperion’s silver light, and Elurín spotted grains of diamond glittering in the sand that was scattered upon the streets. The fortress upon Amon Ereb was not like this bright city at all, and Elurín could not help but feel somewhat disappointed.

Both he and his brother had dozed off along the journey to Tirion. When he woke, he found that he leaned against Cambamíro’s shoulder. The Vanya merchant did not seem to mind, in any case. Now that both Elurín and Eluréd were awake, they gazed openly at the sights of Tirion as they had with Valmar. Noldorin Elves passed by here and there, and Elurín instantly recognized the fashion of clothing that they wore. It was what Maedhros wore during important events and meetings, what Maglor and Amras wore in the evening when the former played his harp. It was what Elurín and Eluréd wore every day in Amon Ereb.

In Doriath they had worn the robes of the Sindar. Those robes had turned to rags in a snow-blown forest, but they kept the rags in their wardrobe, folded and safe. It was their only connection brought from the realm of their birth.

“There are not a lot of Elves here,” Eluréd observed as they passed through another street.

“Indeed,” Cambamíro said. “Many of them went into exile with Prince Fëanáro. They dwell in Formenos.”

“Mahtan as well?” Elurín asked, a cold chill passing over him. What would they do if Mahtan was not here to help them?

“No, he still remains. As does his daughter, Prince Fëanáro’s wife.”

Elurín’s stomach leaped. _Nerdanel._ Maedhros’ mother! That was even better. He caught Eluréd’s gaze and nodded ever so slightly, and he knew from the gleam in his brother’s eyes that he understood. They had to find Mahtan and Nerdanel. They were the only link to Maedhros that Elurín and Eluréd had.

As they passed deeper into the city, Elurín spotted a great tower. At the top was a bright silver light, made ever brighter by Laurelin’s rays. The Mindon Eldaliéva, Elurín remembered from his history lessons. And below that tower was the house of Finwë, High King of the Noldor. But Finwë was not here. He was at Formenos.

That must mean that Indis, Finwë’s second wife, lived at the house. As for which of Finwë’s children dwelled with her, Elurín could not say, but he knew Fëanáro was not there. Was it possible to go to her for aid? But no, she was not connected to Maedhros as Mahtan and Nerdanel were. Elurín did not know as much about Indis as he did of the others. Maedhros had only said that Indis was fair and kind. That was nice, but not much to go on.

Cambamíro eventually halted the wagon. Elurín and Eluréd looked up to see a great big building, with a warm glow in the windows. “We are here,” Cambamíro said. “I just need to drop off some things.”

“I want to come with you!” Eluréd said, jumping down from the wagon.

“Me too! I want to see the forge!” Elurín jumped down as well and hurried over to where Cambamíro stood.

“Very well, then,” the Vanya merchant said with some amusement, and they entered the building.

A rush of hot air blew over Elurín’s face. There was a long brazier on the far end of the forge, filled with orange fire. Worktables and anvils were situated about; there were a few Elves working, their hammers clanging against hot metal. If Elurín closed his eyes, he might convince himself that he was in Amon Ereb’s forge, listening to a small hammer ring as an Elf adjusted Maedhros’ prosthetic hand.

As Cambamíro went over to a shelf, Elurín took Eluréd’s hand and looked around the forge, searching. When he did not see even a hint of red hair, he turned to the Vanya merchant. “Where is Mahtan?”

“He may have gone home,” Cambamíro replied. “It is nearing the Mingling. Most Elves usually sleep during Telperion’s waxing.”

Elurín’s heart sank, and he turned to Eluréd. His brother whispered, “We will have to stay and hide until he returns –”

The sound of footsteps silenced him, and then there was a booming voice. “I heard my name called. Cambamíro, is that you? A productive time at the market, I will wager.”

The Vanya merchant grinned. “Indeed it was.”

“And who are these little ones?” Mahtan asked, turning his blue gaze upon Elurín and Eluréd. Golden freckles were scattered across his deep bronze face like stars, and a dark red beard grew upon his chin and jaw. He wore a leather apron; his gloves he removed and set upon a worktable.

“I was giving them a ride to their family,” Cambamíro explained. “They wanted to see the forge along the way.”

“Is that so?” Mahtan smiled, and his face was very kind. Elurín could not get over the fact that he was also very tall, almost as tall as Maedhros. He even looked very much like Maedhros. 

Something heavy welled within Elurín at that. He missed the fortress on Amon Ereb. As horrible as it would sound to any other Elf, he missed Maedhros’ strong embrace, Maglor’s gentle voice, and Amras’ assuring smile. With Mahtan standing there before them, Elurín very much wanted to hug him and shut his eyes to everything else, this strange place of the past and what would happen next, but he did not. There were things they had to do first.

“I was just passing by,” Cambamíro said. “Come now, little ones. You still need to tell me where your family resides.”

Eluréd shook his head. “Now that we are here, we can find our way. We are very grateful to you, Cambamíro.”

The Vanya merchant frowned. “I am not about to leave you on your own. That was not what I agreed to.”

“Here now,” Mahtan said. “I will see to it that the boys are brought home safely. You can go on, eh? I know you have other errands to complete.”

“Are you certain?” Cambamíro said, brow furrowing. “I do not want to trouble you.”

“It is not trouble at all,” Mahtan assured him. 

“Very well, then.” Cambamíro looked only partly eased. Yet he came over and ruffled Elurín’s hair, then Eluréd’s. “Take care of yourselves.”

“Thank you,” Elurín said, smiling up at him. Cambamíro nodded, and departed from the forge.

“Well now, little ones,” Mahtan said, bringing up two chairs. “You look travel-worn. Have a seat, and I will find you something to drink.”

He disappeared through a door before Elurín could say something. He and Eluréd sat upon the chairs, and soon after, Mahtan reappeared with two tin cups in hand. Elurín and Eluréd took them; they were filled with water, and they drank deeply.

Once they were finished, Mahtan sat down across from them. “So you have family here?”

Elurín and Eluréd hesitated. Talking to Mahtan was different from talking to Cambamíro, and it was not just because Mahtan was their great-grandfather, in a way. No, it was something in his eyes, piercing and wise, that made Elurín nervous, as though Mahtan were laying them bare.

“No need to fear,” Mahtan said, low and gentle. “You can tell me the truth.”

Elurín heard Eluréd’s intake of breath, as though he was steeling himself. “We have family in Formenos,” Eluréd said. “But we said we have family in Tirion because we needed a ride. We were going to look for a merchant to help us get to Formenos.”

If Mahtan was surprised or suspicious, he did not show it. “I see. Then why have you come here? I doubt it was because you only wanted to see my forge.”

Elurín and Eluréd exchanged a glance. Could they trust Mahtan with the knowledge that they came from the future? “We thought you could help us,” Eluréd said. “But if you cannot, we will look for somebody else.”

Mahtan gazed at them for many heartbeats. All that filled the air was the occasional clatter of metal and the crackling of flames in the brazier.

“Hmm. Very well,” Mahtan said. “I know how you can get there.”

Elurín’s heart began to pound, and he and Eluréd leaned forward.

“My daughter will be sending a small group of messengers to Formenos when Laurelin waxes. You can join their party.”

“Oh, thank you!” Eluréd cried.

A small smile tugged at Mahtan’s mouth. “Until then, you may sleep in my quarters. I will be working late.”

“Are you sure?” Elurín asked.

Mahtan nodded and stood. “Follow me.”

He led them through a door and up a staircase. Mahtan’s quarters were quite cozy, with a bed and a warm lamp. Elurín suspected that these were probably not his official quarters, but that Mahtan stayed here when he did not want to be too far from his work.

Once Mahtan had left, Elurín and Eluréd set to work on salvaging what they could of their hunting clothes. The dew from the Trees had dried by this point, leaving a faint sheen over them. They removed their outer tunic and boots and laid them out in the corner of the room, then got into the bed. It was a big bed, and very cozy. 

Eluréd yawned. “Do you think that, if we fall asleep now, we will wake up in our own beds?”

“I would not be bothered if we do,” Elurín murmured. “At least we will be home.”

“Valinor is not so bad.”

Elurín sighed. “No, it is not. But I do miss Adar very much.”

“Do not worry,” Eluréd said, his words slowing to a sleepy slur. “We will get home.” And then he was asleep.

Elurín adjusted his pillow. It smelled of some spice that he did not recognize, with a mix of leather and fresh linen. He closed his eyes and soon drifted off.

Before the next Mingling of the Lights, Mahtan came and woke them up with a knock on the door. Elurín was not sure whether to be relieved or disappointed that this was not all a dream. On the one hand, he was very much curious to see the rest of Valinor, but he still felt the urge to return home. What was happening back there? Were Maedhros and Maglor and Amras alright? Were they searching for Elurín and Eluréd? Elurín hated to worry them.

He and Eluréd put their tunics and hunting leathers back on. The feel of the fabric was familiar, a link to their home, and Elurín took comfort from that.

Mahtan stood outside their door; they followed him back to the forge and outside. Laurelin’s golden light steadily waxed, filling streets and spilling over buildings, and Elurín was once again taken by the beauty of it all.

There were a few horses with their riders nearby. As Elurín and Eluréd approached them, he spotted a woman standing there, with hair as red as Maedhros’. His heart leapt into his throat, and he exchanged a nervous, knowing look with Eluréd.

“Nerdanel,” Mahtan said, “here are the boys.”

Nerdanel, renowned sculptor and mother of Maedhros, gazed upon them with eyes as clear and blue as Mahtan’s. Golden freckles were sprayed across her cheeks, and even a few on her forehead.

 _Grandmother in my heart,_ Elurín thought.

“I see,” she said. “Small they are, as you say. There is certainly space for them.”

Elurín blushed. To any tall Elf, he and his twin would definitely be small.

“Come here,” Nerdanel said, and she lifted first Eluréd onto the saddle of one horse, and Elurín onto another. Elurín was startled by the strength of her hands; it was just like how Maedhros would pick them up, yet unlike their adar, Nerdanel did not embrace them.

For a moment, Elurín felt a wash of sadness, but pushed it away. Nerdanel did not know them, after all.

“Thank you, Mahtan,” Eluréd said as the messengers mounted their horses.

“And Lady Nerdanel,” Elurín added. “Thank you for letting us go with your messengers.” One of said messengers now sat behind him, keeping him secure in the saddle.

Nerdanel inclined her head with a small smile, but Elurín thought he detected a sadness in her gaze, as though her thoughts were far away.

The messengers urged their steeds forward, and then they were off. Elurín looked back the way they had come, but Mahtan and Nerdanel had already left.

_Farewell, Great-Grandfather, Grandmother. Until we meet again, if we ever do._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, some posted designs! Indis' design is mostly Vanyarin (with the high collar and such) while Nerdanel's is Noldorin :)


	4. Nelyafinwë Maitimo

The messengers took them out through the northern gate of Tirion. They rode across the grassy fields in Laurelin’s waxing light, and although Elurín and Eluréd were not wearing riding leathers, the messengers were kind enough to put padding on the saddles to make it easier on their small legs.

They stopped for regular breaks and shared some bread with the twins, which Elurín was grateful for. He was honestly getting tired of travelling, but he did not complain. After all, they were getting closer to where Maedhros was, and that was what mattered.

After what felt like hours of riding, Elurín spotted a city on the horizon, but it was not a white city, nor did it glimmer in the light of the Trees. Instead, it bore the look of stone and steel. As they got closer, one of the messengers blew a horn, and Elurín watched as the gates to the city opened.

This was Formenos, the stronghold of Fëanor.

Inside, Elurín was immediately met with a feeling of familiarity, more so than he had felt in Tirion. This city was entirely Noldorin, built by the Noldor, and manned by it, just as the fortress upon Amon Ereb was. The buildings and towers were of grey stone, and the only colour was in the Elves’ heavy robes. Cambamíro was right; this city was full of Noldor where Tirion appeared empty. Their hair was dark, either raven or brown, and their skin was bronze or fair. Even though Elurín had never seen _these_ Elves of this time, he knew of the Noldor in Amon Ereb, and it was enough to help him relax.

The messengers urged their horses up the streets, and Elurín spotted a large house at the top of the fortress. His hands shook where he gripped the horn of the saddle. Was that where Maedhros was? It seemed grand enough for a prince’s family. He glanced at Eluréd, but his brother’s messenger was just up ahead, so Elurín could not see his face.

What would they do when they reached the house? How would they find Maedhros? Elurín was glad to be getting closer to him, at least, but what would they say? How would they explain their situation?

He would discuss it with Eluréd when they dismounted. Eluréd was likely thinking of the same thing and coming up with a solution.

They soon came to the gates of the large house. It appeared like a fortress in itself, with unyielding stone walls and great towers to keep watch of any suspicious movement. The messengers halted their horses and dismounted.

“Is that where Prince Fëanáro lives? And his family?” Eluréd asked his messenger as the latter lifted him down.

“Yes,” the messenger replied. “Now, where does your family reside?”

“Very close to here,” Eluréd said. “We can find it on our own.”

“Very well.”

Elurín was also lifted down, and he hurried over to Eluréd’s side. One of the messengers was speaking to a guard at the gates; a shout went up, and the gates began to open. The messengers and their horses made their way inside.

“Over here,” Eluréd whispered, and they hurried over to the horse at the end of the line, keeping close. The guard did not see them, as he was standing on the other side of the horse as they passed by.

Once they were clear of the doors, Elurín spotted a large space of green: a lawn with hedges. Eluréd gripped his hand, and they were suddenly hurrying off to hide behind one of the hedges. Peeking out, they saw that the messengers had come to the front doors of Fëanor’s house, and were speaking to somebody at the doorway.

Elurín sighed, trying to calm his pounding heart. “What do we do now?”

“Now we look for Adar,” Eluréd said, as though it were that simple.

“I suppose you will suggest that we knock on the front door,” Elurín said sarcastically.

“Do you have a better idea?” his brother shot back.

Elurín sighed. “No.”

Stableboys arrived to take the messengers’ horses away, and then the messengers disappeared inside the house, carrying what appeared to be small parcels. The doors were closed.

Eluréd sat back on the grass. Elurín was silent for a moment, then said, “Now that we are here, perhaps it would be a good time to prepare some words for Adar.”

Eluréd offered a sheepish smile, and they adjusted their seating to face each other.

“Should we tell him that we are from the future?” Elurín suggested.

“I do not know,” Eluréd said. “What if something bad happens because of that? Maybe we should keep it a secret for now.” He paused. “Adar might not even believe us if we told him.”

That was true. Elurín bit his lower lip in thought, but had no ideas.

“In truth, I did not think about what would happen once we got here,” Eluréd murmured. “I thought … Once we found Adar, we would find a way home as well.”

“Maybe the Valar would have a solution,” Elurín said.

Eluréd’s eyes widened and he smacked his forehead. “The Valar! Why did I not think of that?”

“It is alright!” Elurín said quickly. “Now that we are here, we ought to try looking for Adar, at least. We can think about the Valar later. Perhaps we _will_ find a solution here!”

Eluréd nodded, dropping his hands onto his lap. “Yes, you are right.’ He glanced out at the house, then turned and began to crawl along the hedge.

“Where are you going?” Elurín asked.

“Exploring!” Eluréd said. “Come on, brother. We will not get anything done if we just sit here.”

Elurín sighed, yet he followed Eluréd as they moved from hedge to hedge, gradually making their way around the house of Fëanor. Elurín shook his head at the ridiculousness of it all. To think that he and his twin were actually sneaking through the home of the great Noldo himself! If – _when,_ he corrected himself, they got home, they would have an interesting tale to tell!

They eventually came to a pavilion, large and made of stone. Elurín was exhausted, as though all the events of the day were catching up to him. _Day._ He could not even call it a day, since there was no day and night during the time of the Trees. But he knew that they had spent a good chunk of time exploring; Laurelin’s light was waning now.

“Can we sit down for a bit?” he asked, hands and knees aching from crawling. Even though there appeared to be nobody about, he did not want to risk getting caught by the wrong person.

“Alright.” They both sat down, leaning against a stone pillar of the pavilion.

Elurín exhaled a breath and leaned his head against Eluréd’s shoulder. “How did we come to be here?” he murmured.

Eluréd knew what he meant. “Perhaps some Doom. Or the will of the Valar. Maybe even Ilúvatar.”

Elurín glanced at his clothes. “Maglor will not like it when he sees how dirty these are.”

Eluréd laughed lightly at that. “They are hunting clothes, silly. They are supposed to get dirty.”

Elurín smiled and felt his eyes droop. The warmth of Laurelin and waxing Telperion made him drowsy. A little nap would not hurt, and then they would be off crawling again …

“Hail,” a new voice said, familiar and yet not.

Elurín’s eyes flew open.

In a second, both he and Eluréd were scrambling over each other to stand up. Eluréd planted himself in front of Elurín, and they both faced the one who had spoken, only to go completely still.

“I am sorry,” Maedhros, son of Fëanor, said. “I did not mean to frighten you.”

He held up a hand to show that he meant no harm. It was his right hand. A whole, right hand. Not a stump.

Elurín could hardly breathe, yet he forced himself to take steady breaths. His eyes glued to Maedhros’ face, that familiar visage that he saw every day, and again at every night before drifting off to sleep. It was a face that Elurín knew very well, and yet not. Beauty radiated from Maedhros, so much that it was rather unsettling, his features chiseled as though from marble. Elurín tried to look past it, knowing that there was something missing.

The scars. There were no scars on Maedhros’ face, only golden freckles as lovely as his mother and grandfather’s. His deep red hair tumbled to his waist in thick waves, and his piercing eyes were the blue of a sky that is gathering clouds.

He smiled gently, looking between them, perhaps waiting for them to say something. When neither of them spoke, Maedhros said, “Are you waiting for somebody? Do you need anything?”

Eluréd opened his mouth to respond, but what came out was a soft, murmured sound, as though his words just died in his throat. Elurín could only stare, and the urge to run up to Maedhros and hug him grew strong, but his legs were frozen.

A look of concern passed over Maedhros’ face, and he kneeled before them. “Are you alright? Where did you come from?”

Elurín swallowed and pointed to the gates. Maedhros followed his gaze. At the gates were the messengers and their horses, already leaving.

“You came with them?” Maedhros said, looking back at Elurín and fixing him with those achingly familiar eyes. “Are you not going to return with them?”

Elurín shook his head. Then, unable to help himself, he raised a trembling hand and brushed his fingers against Maedhros’ cheek.

 _Real._ Not rough as he remembered, but warm and solid and real.

Elurín’s chest tightened, and tears gathered in his eyes. Maedhros must have seen it, for he held out his hand to them, and they shifted closer to him.

“Now, now, there is nothing to fear.” He eyed their clothes. “I can see that you have traveled a long way. Come, we will find you something to wear and to eat, and then you can tell me your tale.”

A wave of dizziness washed over Elurín as both he and Eluréd placed themselves on either side of Maedhros, reaching up to take his hand; Eluréd was on the left, and Elurín on the right.

Maedhros glanced down at Elurín, and said, “Child, would you rather not hold my hand?”

Elurín blinked. He had gone through this motion many times, to the point where he did not even think of it. But now that he looked, he saw that he had reached for Maedhros’ right wrist. He swallowed, allowing his own to slip into Maedhros’ hand, and then they set off toward the house.

No matter what happened next, Elurín thought, savouring the presence of his adar, things were well again, for now.

Upon entering the house, Maedhros was immediately met by an Elf lady dressed in plain robes. Elurín tilted his head, regarding her. Was she a handmaiden? A servant?

“Lirindiel,” he greeted her. “Take these two to the guest chambers and clean them up.” He eyed them again. “They also need some fresh clothes.”

“Yes, my lord,” Lirindiel replied.

Maedhros looked down at them. “I will see you both later, and with some food. Go on.”

Elurín did not let go of his hand, and neither did Eluréd. Leave Maedhros? Just when they had already found him?

 _He found us,_ a small voice in Elurín’s head whispered, and that warmed him considerably. Maedhros always found them, even from the beginning.

With much reluctance, Elurín released Maedhros’ hand and took a step toward Lirindiel. Eluréd did the same, and then the servant was leading them away. Elurín looked back to where Maedhros was, but he was already walking in the opposite direction. Elurín sighed shakily, and turned to look forward.

The corridors of Fëanor’s house were spacious, and its staircases wide and polished. That was the most of what Elurín saw, at least, for Lirindiel took them through only a few corridors and up one flight of stairs before stopping at a door. 

Lirindiel went inside, and Elurín and Eluréd followed. Upon seeing the chamber, Elurín could not contain his gasp. The chamber was huge! A large bed stood off to one side, with a silk canopy draping down from the overhead frame in waves. There was also a window on the far end, letting in the waning light of Laurelin. A vanity and wardrobe, and a lounge, completed the scene. Elurín could not remember being in such a fine room, though his memory of Doriath, albeit fuzzy, was likely a contender.

There was a door off to the side that Lirindiel went through. Elurín peeked through and saw an adjoining bath chamber, with a large tub, folded fluffy towels, and bars of soap. The floor was tiled with pale marble. What a fine sight!

Lirindiel bid them wait, and soon had hot water sloshing in the big tub. She then had them remove their soiled clothes and helped them into the bath. Elurín’s muscles relaxed in the steaming water, and he eagerly scrubbed the dirt and grime from his skin, aided by Lirindiel’s bar of soap. The soap itself had a strong floral scent that tickled Elurín’s nose.

While they soaked, Lirindiel sent for some fresh clothes. Once the bath was done, she helped them out and toweled them down, then slipped the robes over their heads. The fabric was smooth and heavy, much like the special robes that Maedhros hardly wore in Amon Ereb. The robes were also dyed red and embroidered with gold. _Fëanorian red,_ Elurín thought.

As a final touch, Lirindiel slipped dark red slippers onto their feet and led them back into the bedchamber. To Elurín’s delight, there was a tray with bowls of steaming soup. Both he and Eluréd ate as though starving, and once they had finished, Lirindiel took them outside.

“Where are we going now?” Eluréd asked, speaking for the first time since Maedhros found them.

“To Lord Nelyafinwë,” Lirindiel replied. Elurín’s heart raced at the thought of seeing Maedhros up close again. Unscarred Maedhros with two hands, who was still untouched by what was to come. Elurín did not know whether to be glad or worried by this.

They soon arrived at a set of polished, oak doors. Lirindiel knocked twice. “My lord, the children are here.”

“Thank you, Lirindiel. You may let them in,” Maedhros replied on the other side, his voice muffled.

Lirindiel opened the door and ushered Elurín and Eluréd inside. The chamber appeared to be a study, but it was bigger than the one that Maedhros in Amon Ereb, and brighter. There was a desk and a large hearth, but Maedhros was not sitting at any of these. Instead he stood at the large window, looking out into the distance. He turned and smiled at them as they came in, and indicated the chairs at his table.

Elurín and Eluréd went over and sat down. The chair was cushioned, Elurín realized. Yet another thing that was different from home.

“Did you enjoy your meal?” Maedhros asked kindly, sitting across from them and folding his long legs. Elurín had seen him do this many times, but seeing it here and now made his chest ache. The feeling intensified as he gazed at Maedhros, his Adar and yet not.

Eluréd nodded. “It was good,” he said in a small voice. “Thank you.”

“Thank you,” Elurín echoed, even quieter than his brother.

Maedhros nodded with satisfaction. Then he said, “I did not have a chance to ask you your names.” He spoke in a gentle tone, and now he waited for them to reply.

Eluréd straightened in his chair. “I am Eluréd, and this is my brother, Elurín.”

“Well met.” A small furrow appeared between Maedhros’ red brows. “May I ask what language your names are in? I do not recognize it.”

Elurín shifted uncomfortably in his seat despite the soft cushion. Why did he and Eluréd forget to discuss the matter of their names? Of course Maedhros did not recognize Sindarin. And even if he did, Eluréd’s name would be odder, since it held a word from the House of Bëor.

“It is, er …” Eluréd floundered, no doubt realizing the same thing.

“Nicknames,” Elurín blurted. Heat flushed his neck as Maedhros’ gaze fell on him. “They are just nicknames. Silly words.”

“I see,” Maedhros said. Elurín could not tell whether he believed it or not, but to his relief, Maedhros did not question it.

There was a time when Maglor had attempted translating their names to Quenya. _Elweréno_ for Elurín was simple enough. Eluréd’s was a little harder, considering the Bëorian word in his name, but Maglor had eventually come up with _Elwerendo._ Yet if they used those names, Elurín thought, it would let others know of their connection to Elwë – Elu Thingol. No, it was safer to use their “nicknames” instead.

“Well, Eluréd and Elurín.” Maedhros’ accent made their names sound funny. “You say you came here with the messengers of my mother, Lady Nerdanel?”

They had not said so, but that did not matter. “Yes,” Eluréd said. “We came from Tirion.”

For now they would keep the truth of their arrival a secret. Elurín still did not understand it. How did they come to wake under the Two Trees? Something told him it would not be an easy mystery to solve.

“You know to whom this house belongs, do you not?” Maedhros asked. “It is my father’s, Prince Fëanáro.”

“Yes,” Eluréd said. “And … and you are Lord Nelyafinwë.”

“You may call me Maitimo, if you so wish,” Maedhros said.

 _Maitimo,_ Elurín repeated in his mind. One of the many names that Maedhros carried. And one that fit his adar better in this time, even if Elurín was not as familiar with it as he was with “Maedhros.”

“It is fortunate that I found you when I did,” Maitimo continued, his face serious. “My father does not take kindly to trespassers.”

A cold fist seized Elurín’s heart, and without thinking, he reached forward to rest his palm over the back of Maitimo’s hand. “Forgive us, lord,” he said, close to a whisper. The title tasted odd on his tongue. “But please, do not send us away.”

Maitimo tilted his head. His wavy locks draped over the armrest of his chair. “Do you not have a family waiting for you?”

Neither Elurín nor Eluréd said anything. Did they have family, ancestors, living in Valinor at this time? Elurín thought back to his lessons, and a certain piece of knowledge crossed his mind.

King Olwë of Alqualondë, Thingol’s brother.

Elurín and Eluréd could have gone to him. Olwë was a relative by blood, a strong connection to their home in Beleriand, was he not?

But even as Elurín considered it, a shiver passed through him. He could not imagine going to Alqualondë, the fair Swanhaven, where the First Kinslaying would later take place. It brought too many blood-stained memories to the surface of Elurín’s mind, memories that he had subconsciously pushed away. They were fuzzy now, but during those few times that he did think of it, the memories rushed forth with great clarity, leaving him like a wilted flower on the floor.

Olwë was kin, but Elurín did not know him or have any familiarity with him. He only knew the king through the stories that Maedhros had told, and the songs that Maglor had sung.

Other than that, the only family Elurín could think of was sitting before him, unknowing.

Maitimo leaned back in his seat, a slight frown on his face. Elurín wondered what his adar made of their silence.

“You may stay here then,” Maitimo said eventually, his gaze softening with pity. “Until we can find you a permanent home.”

A sudden burst of mingling joy and relief filled Elurín and that. He was partly aware of Eluréd thanking Maitimo many times over.

Maedhros, Maitimo, either one would never send them away, he told himself. It was just as the first time they had spoken after being rescued, sitting in the fortress’ kitchen and eating hot porridge.

Now that they were with their adar, Elurín was sure that things could only get better from here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maedhros is finally here! Also, I drew his design for when he's in Beleriand, so just imagine him without the scars for this fic XDD  
> 


	5. An Odd Feeling

Nerdanel’s gifts included her sons’ favourite sweets, and letters for each of them. After reading his, Maitimo tucked her letter away in a drawer along with all the previous ones. He missed his mother dearly, so much that it felt like a physical pain at times, and this was one of them. But he could not blame her for wanting to stay behind. It would anger his brothers to hear of it, but Maitimo believed this separation was beneficial, at least for the time being. Fëanáro’s actions in Finwë’s court had shaken them all, and it did not help that Nerdanel had already been warring with Fëanáro at the time. 

It was that damned Melkor. Maitimo’s anger bubbled beneath the surface when he thought of how the Vala undermined them. If only Maitimo had been more vigilant. If only …

He shook his head. There was no use thinking about what could have been, though he often caught himself thinking of it during the quieter hours, when his brothers were out and he was alone. And Melkor had not won, either. The Valar now knew him for what he was, and were keeping watch.

And this upcoming festival that Fëanáro was invited to … Maitimo gathered from Nerdanel’s letter that it was to mend the rift between his father and Uncle Nolofinwë. Although Maitimo doubted Fëanáro would truly allow it in his heart, he hoped that his father would accept Nolofinwë’s intentions, if not outwardly for the people’s sake. They could not afford to be at odds with each other, not now while Melkor was still unfound.

Maitimo sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. There was much to deal with and think about, even when it seemed that nothing was happening. He assisted his father wherever needed, saw to the administration of Formenos, and made sure that his brothers were not getting into trouble. At least he had Carnistir’s help with figuring. Maitimo was as good at numbers as any of them, but Carnistir had a certain resilience when it came to managing the figures for hours at a time. Maitimo could hardly keep on without his eyes crossing.

He glanced out the window. The Mingling of the Lights had already passed, and now Telperion waxed. It was nearing the time for the evening meal. And that reminded him – he must see to it that the two children received an evening meal as well.

Maitimo therefore made his way to the kitchens and spoke to the head cook, Mastaro, of the matter.

“Two young ones, eh?” Mastaro mused, rubbing his pointed chin.

“About the age of your son, or a little younger,” Maitimo said. “They enjoyed the soup that he made.”

Even as he said it, Mastaro’s son, Laiquehepar, hurried through the kitchens, expertly weaving his way around the other cooks, bringing spices and herbs where needed. Maitimo ruffled the boy’s hair as the latter passed by, and Laiquehepar grinned toothily.

“I will make them more soup, if they want it,” the boy offered, having heard the conversation with his sharp ears.

“We will save that for tomorrow,” Mastaro said. Laiquehepar pouted, but there was an eager gleam in his eyes.

Once that was finished, Maitimo departed and made his way to the dining hall. Bringing up the topic of the young children turned his thought to them, and now he saw their faces in his mind’s eye. Having lived with a set of twins for brothers, he was not terribly shocked when he saw that these children were twins. It was a curious thing though, as twins were very rare among the Eldar. But what surprised him most was the white of their hair, shining silver in the light of the Two Trees. Even their eyebrows and eyelashes were white. Their skin tone was darker than most Elves’, not what he was familiar with in any of the Elven clans, though he could admit that he had not seen everything even in all his long years.

Were they perhaps from Alqualondë? The Teleri had silver hair, though not as pale as these children’s. Maitimo’s steps slowed as he neared the dining hall, remembering how one of them – _the sadder one,_ a voice whispered in his mind – touched his face and his hand. Maitimo was not as startled by that as the look in the child’s eyes. The twins both had clear eyes of the palest, pearly blue. Yet in them swam deep shadows, a gloom he had seen only once before in his father’s gaze.

It was a deep grief that they held. That much Maitimo knew, and it unnerved him to see it in a child’s face, much less two of them. What business did those children have to carry such sadness in the living light of Valinor? Fëanáro had a reason, of course. The death of his beloved mother, Míriel …

Maitimo heard a murmur of conversation within the dining hall. He entered to find most of his brothers already seated. Tyelkormo lounged back in his chair, with Huan draped over the floor at his feet. Carnistir nibbled on a break stick, eyeing the walls with a shadowed look as he always did when he was deep in thought. Makalaurë plucked at a small harp he had brought; at times he played for them, though sometimes he refrained when he felt a particular composition was not yet perfected. He only played the songs that he deemed exemplary. Anything less than perfect was not to be performed until he had worked his magic on them.

Even as Maitimo took his seat near the head of the table, the Ambarussat burst into the hall, bright and beaming, and flopped onto their chairs. They were identical just as the white-haired children were, yet the elder of them, Ambarto, had red hair a shade darker than young Ambarussa and Maitimo’s.

 _Ambarto, Ambarussa._ Only years of practice allowed Maitimo to keep track of them. They preferred to share the Mother-name of Ambarussa, yet sometimes Maitimo used the assigned name of Ambarto for the elder of the two.

Shortly after the twins’ arrival, Finwë and Fëanáro emerged, deep in conversation, taking their places at the head of the table. The only one not present was Curufinwë. He took to eating with his wife and his young son, Telperinquar. At times he joined in at their meals, and he and Fëanáro would speak of forging and whatnot. 

The food arrived immediately after Finwë and Fëanáro took their seats. Creamy soups, fresh bread washed with melted butter, cheese of the choicest kinds, and savoury pies. Maitimo relaxed as he was surrounded by good food and familiar company. At one point, he overheard Finwë mention the festival, and Fëanáro’s sharp gaze darkened.

“Must you go to Taniquetil, Atar?” Tyelkormo asked, having heard the same. Underneath the table, Huan chewed contentedly on a sizable chunk of roast meat.

“Indeed,” their father replied, glaring at the flame of a candle on the table. “Manwë’s invitation is anything but. He expects me to come. But to the rest of you, it is an invitation.”

“And suffer the pity of Nolofinwë’s ilk?” Carnistir scoffed. “I will not go.”

“Nor will I,” Tyelkormo added. “Or Curufinwë. He is certain of it.”

The Ambarussat hesitated. Maitimo felt sorry for them; they did not share Fëanáro’s rivalry with Nolofinwë as much as the others did.

“What of you, Grandfather?” young Ambarussa asked.

Finwë exchanged a glance with Fëanáro. “I will not go,” he replied gravely. “While the ban lasts upon my son, that he may not go to Tirion, I hold myself unkinged, and I will not meet my people.”

Both Ambarussat sagged, downcast but resigned. Maitimo knew that none of them would go, nor any of the Noldor in Formenos, while Finwë remained.

“Will you bring the Silmarils, Father?” Ambarto asked then.

They all looked at Fëanáro, who rubbed his chin in thought. “No,” he said firmly. “The Valar will expect it of me, but what right do they have to see the Jewels after all they have done?”

The Silmarils, the greatest work of Fëanáro. Maitimo had seen them a few times before, and only when his father gave permission. They shone bright and clear with the light of the Trees, unparalleled by any other jewel. Even Varda herself hallowed them so that no unclean or mortal hand could touch them without suffering great torment. At the moment the Silmarils resided in Fëanáro’s armoury, built underneath the house.

“You are quiet this evening, Maitimo,” Fëanáro said suddenly.

Maitimo looked up, startled. His brothers turned their gazes upon him. “I am content to listen,” he said.

Fëanáro arched a dark brow. Maitimo once again thought of the young children, and made a mental note to speak to his father after the meal. It would do no good to keep it a secret. If Fëanáro found out about them before Maitimo spoke of it … At the very least, his father would either turn them out or allow them to stay until a home was found for them. For now, Maitimo only needed to tell him.

After the evening meal, Maitimo caught up to his father in the outer corridor. Fëanáro was walking with Finwë; both turned to Maitimo in question.

“I would like to speak with you, Atar,” Maitimo said. “Just for a moment.”

Fëanáro regarded him, but nodded without question.

“I will bid you a good Waning, then,” Finwë said. He kissed his son’s brow, then Maitimo’s, and then departed down the corridor.

“Well?” Fëanáro said, turning to face Maitimo. “What is it you wish to speak of, my son?” His raven-dark hair shone in Telperion’s light, the angles of his face thrown in sharp relief.

Maitimo straightened and spoke of the two children he had found by the garden pavilion. Fëanáro listened without interruption, and once Maitimo had finished, he levelled him with a steady gaze.

“You let _two tresspassers_ into my house?”

Something flared in Maitimo’s chest at his father’s words. Something … protective? “They were lost,” Maitimo said firmly. “They meant no harm.”

“Is that what they told you?” Fëanáro demanded. “What of their family?”

“I feel that they may have none.”

“You _feel?_ What possessed you to let them in? You could have let the servants take them, yet you placed another burden on your shoulders.”

As chastened as Maitimo felt, something else nudged at his mind. Why _did_ he take the children inside? Why did he allow them to stay instead of sending them back with Nerdanel’s messengers?

Maitimo had felt … What did he feel? He thought back to when he had first seen them at the pavilion, their hair glittering in the afternoon light. Something had come over him then, tugging him in their direction before he even thought to approach them. 

He had felt it when speaking to the children, and despite the flimsiness of their explanation, he somehow _knew_ that they meant no harm. But how?

“Where did they come from?” Fëanáro asked.

“They spoke of Tirion.”

His father’s eyes flashed. “And they came all the way here – directly to my house? How do you know they are not spies of Nolofinwë?”

Maitimo inhaled sharply. He knew his father’s distrust of Nolofinwë ran deep, but this …! “Atar, they are only children! I am certain they are not spies. They speak as our people do, even with the lisp.”

Fëanáro did not look fully convinced.

“Please, will you trust me in this, Atar?” Maitimo asked in earnest. “I will find a home for them. They will be of no trouble.”

“Hmm.” Fëanáro’s eyes were clear, piercing through Maitimo’s as though to look at his fëa. Maitimo had lived with his father all his life, yet he was still not used to his burning gaze. “Where are they?”

“In a guest chamber.”

“I will see them now.”

Maitimo swallowed and nodded.

At the door of the children’s chamber, Maitimo knocked twice. Fëanáro stood beside him, his presence enough to make the silence around them suffocating. The quiet was soon broken by muffled footsteps within the chamber; the door opened to reveal Lirindiel. She held a candle in one hand. “My lords!”

Maitimo inclined his head to her. “Lirindiel. How are the young ones?”

“I have prepared them for bed, but they are finding sleep difficult.”

Maitimo glanced into the bedchamber. There on the bed lay the children, faces framed by their long, white hair. Their eyes gleamed as they spotted him, and to his surprise, they leaped out of bed and hurried over to where he stood.

“Children, you must rest!” Lirindiel admonished.

“It is alright,” Maitimo said.

The children froze in the doorway, staring at Fëanáro. Maitimo could not tell what went on in his father’s expression as he looked at them. Curiosity? Suspicion? 

“Atar,” he said, “these are Eluréd and Elurín.”

One of the twins, Eluréd, seemed to come out of his reverie. He bowed deeply to Fëanáro, and Elurín followed his brother’s example.

“A star shines upon the hour of our meeting,” Eluréd said, voice wavering ever so slightly. His Quenya was flawless, but his accent was noticeable. Maitimo could not place it at all. It was not Vanyarin, or even Telerin. Where did it come from?

Fëanáro arched an eyebrow. “Can you see the stars from here, little one?”

Eluréd did not straighten. His white hair blocked his face from view, but Maitimo observed how his hands trembled, clasped before him. “No,” the child said. “But they shine nevertheless.”

“You have seen them?” Fëanáro asked. “They can only be seen fully in Alqualondë.”

Eluréd looked up, startled.

“Your white hair,” Fëanáro said, and the children glanced at their locks. “Some Teleri are known to have such.” He pinned the children with a piercing look. “Is that where you hail from?”

“My lord …” Eluréd took a deep, shaking breath, steeling himself. “We have no family. Not anymore.”

Maitimo’s brow furrowed. He had guessed as much, but to hear it confirmed was unsettling.

Something shifted in Fëanáro’s eyes. “How?” he asked.

“We – we do not know,” Eluréd replied. “We wandered, and then we were lost.”

“You did not seek aid?”

The children looked away, shuffling in discomfort.

Fëanáro released a sharp breath. “Foolish children. Is that why you are here now? You would have found help in Tirion.”

Eluréd shook his head, white hair waving back and forth. “We did not feel safe there. Tirion is only a city, but Formenos is a fortress.”

“The Valar?”

Eluréd tilted his head, peering at Fëanáro with a solemn look. “Would _you_ go to the Valar, my lord?”

A humourless smile tugged at Fëanáro’s lips.

“We – we heard of your might, great lord,” Elurín put in, looking as though he had just jumped into the path of a bear. “You stood up to protect what is yours when no one else would. We thought we would be safest here.”

Fëanáro regarded them with a slight tilt of his head. Maitimo likewise gazed at the children in surprise. Why had they not told him this before?

“And safe you will be,” Fëanáro said eventually, “for nothing of ill intent shall pass into my fortress.”

The relief in the children’s faces was evident.

A little ways down the hall, just out of earshot of the twins, Fëanáro turned to Maitimo.

“Very well,” he said. “I will trust you in this. Find a home for them, but do not let them get underfoot.”

Maitimo nodded once, surprised. “You trust them, Atar?”

Fëanáro glanced over Maitimo’s shoulder in the children’s direction. “I can sense no falsity in them,” he said in a lower voice. “But keep an eye on them while they are here.”

"Do you think they could be spies?"

"After seeing them, perhaps not. They are too open, too easy to read. And that excuse they gave ... Pitiable, but I will swallow it for now. They will be gone soon, after all."

Maitimo nodded, deciding not to reply to _that,_ not here where the children could catch raised voices _._ “I understand. Thank you for leaving the matter to me.”

Fëanáro rested a hand on Maitimo’s shoulder. Maitimo was half a head taller than his father, if not more. “You do well, my son.”

Maitimo felt a swell of pride at the praise. It stayed with him even as Fëanáro departed. As the eldest, he was heir to his father’s house and people, and he had a duty to uphold. Sometimes it seemed too much to handle, but he was determined to live up to his father’s name. And not only that, but he had to make sure his family and people remained safe and strong. He could still remember the time when Melkor arrived at Fëanáro’s doorstep, lusting for the Silmarils, only for Fëanáro to fiercely reject him. As awe-inspiring as his father’s actions were, Maitimo feared that it had only roused the Vala’s anger. Who knew what Melkor was plotting now, wherever he was? Who knew when he would return again?

For now there was relative peace. Maitimo turned back to the children’s chamber. The twins were standing in the doorway, waiting for him.

“Did Lord Fëanáro say we can stay?” Eluréd asked.

“For now,” Maitimo assured him.

Elurín stepped out from behind his brother. _Elurín, the twin with the saddened face,_ Maitimo mused. Eluréd, on the other hand, had the air of a protector.

For a brief moment, Maitimo thought of the Ambarussat in their youth, though Ambarussa was the fiercer of the two while Ambarto was more timid.

“Children,” Maitimo said, “why did you not tell me of your past before?”

Eluréd lowered his head. “Forgive us, my lord,” he murmured. “We were not in our right minds.”

Maitimo sighed, but felt no anger. How could he? The children had been travel-worn, exhausted. And to lose their family … However it had happened, Maitimo did not doubt it was a heavy burden. It was difficult enough for him that Nerdanel lived far away. How deep did the children’s grief run?

Now, at least, he knew the source of the pain in their faces.

“Sleep now,” Maitimo said gently. “I expect you to be well-rested in the morning. For now, I will bid you a good evening.”

The children appeared confused at that, glancing at each other and then back at him. “Evening?” Eluréd asked.

“Indeed.” Maitimo arched a brow at them. Did they not know what it meant? How curious.

Elurín glanced out the window. Laurelin’s light was nearing the end of its waning and at its dimmest. Already Maitimo could see Telperion’s light slowly waxing.

“When the lights mingle again,” Elurín said, “is that when we wake up?”

“Lirindiel will wake you,” Maitimo replied. “Whatever you need, you may go to her.”

The children appeared uncertain at that. Something about it made Maitimo uncertain as well, but he pushed it away. He had other duties to take care of. One of his assistants could search for a household to take the children in. 

Maitimo stood, and the children watched with wide eyes. “Sleep well,” he told them.

“Good – good evening,” Eluréd stammered.

Elurín looked as though he wished to follow as Maitimo left, but he remained at his brother’s side.

Maitimo returned to his bedchamber, unable to banish the children’s faces from his mind. The deep sadness and uncertainty around the twins, and the fear that had taken hold of them when Maitimo first met them … It was a pull he could not discern, perhaps, or an itch he longed to scratch, but could not reach. It was an odd feeling, very odd.

What did it mean?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally figured out how to center images! For Elured and Elurin's design, I drew them wearing their Sindarin robes, but they wouldn't be wearing these anymore (for reasons) ^^; Also, I haven't uploaded all of the Feanorians' designs because I'm planning to add them in over time with the following chapters :D  
> Also, Ambarussat is the plural form of Ambarussa when referring to a pair. Ambarussar is also a plural, but refers more to two unrelated things rather than a related pair.
> 
> Your comments and kudos are greatly appreciated <333


	6. A Place to Stay

Elurín woke just as the Mingling of the Lights took place. Soft golden and silver light washed through the bedchamber, making his and Eluréd’s hair look like glittering snow. Just as before, they had slept and nothing happened – they did not wake up in Amon Ereb, none of this was a dream. Elurín’s homesickness was lessened by the fact that Maitimo was nearby, even if he was not the Maedhros that Elurín was used to. He and Eluréd were truly back in time, but why? And how?

Eluréd shifted at Elurín’s side. “Morning already?” he mumbled.

“I still cannot believe what you said last night,” Elurín said, not answering his brother’s question. You thought so quickly, and in front of Prince Fëanáro!”

Eluréd offered a sleepy smile. “Not too quickly,” he murmured. “Thought of it beforehand. Had some time to prepare.” Eluréd sighed. “Wish I’d thought sooner. To tell Adar.”

Elurín wished the same, but at least Maitimo knew now. In any case, he was glad that Eluréd had thought soon enough to tell Fëanáro. Elurín had been too frozen to think of anything! He had taken one look at the prince, at his strong, angular features and searching gaze, and knew that he was not going to accept what they had given Maitimo.

Elurín thanked the Valar for his brother’s smart thinking. The explanation Eluréd gave was close enough to the truth while not revealing all of it. Elurín felt better about that. They did not lie to their adar, nor did he ever want to.

The lights mingled for an hour; Elurín dozed off after a time, only to reawaken at the sound of a gentle knock on the door. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and saw that Laurelin’s light was waxing.

Lirindiel entered the bed chamber, carrying some folded robes. “Good morning,” she said. “Did you sleep well?”

Eluréd yawned and nodded. They got out of bed and splashed water on their faces from the wash basin. Then Lirindiel assisted them in changing out of their nightgowns. The robes she brought were purple this time, with silver embroidery and dark blue slippers. Elurín liked these better than the red robes. They were closer in colour to his pale-blue robes at home.

Breakfast came on a tray, consisting of hot, buttered toast, scrambled eggs, and strawberries, along with two cups of fresh milk to drink, and little jars of jam, honey, and cream. Elurín’s eyes went wide at the sight of the food. He was used to eating the simple meals of Amon Ereb, usually bread, meat, stews, and leftovers from the day before. Even Eluréd was staring at the tray with bewildered delight.

Very soon there was no breakfast left. Elurín rubbed his stomach, full and content. His tongue was rather tender after having shoveled hot eggs into his mouth. But the food was so delicious! He breathed through his mouth in an attempt to cool his tongue down, torn between regretting his haste and savouring the memory of a hot breakfast.

Meanwhile, _his_ tongue clearly uninjured, Eluréd turned to Lirindiel and said, “What do we do now?”

“Whatever you like,” she replied. “Would you like to go outside? Visit the gardens, the markets?”

“Where is Ad – Lord Nelyafinwë?” Elurín asked.

“He will have finished his morning meal by now. If you want to see him, I am afraid he is busy at the moment.”

Elurín’s heart sank. He must remember that this Maedhros was of a different time.

“Could we look around the house, then?” Eluréd asked.

Lirindiel smiled. “I can give you a tour. Come along.”

Eluréd took Elurín’s hand, and they followed her out into the corridor. Elurín’s heart pounded at the thought of seeing the house, and also that Maedhros was not the one leading them, but at least Eluréd was with him. It would be like exploring the fortress on Amon Ereb.

For most of Laurelin’s waxing, Lirindiel showed them around the house of Fëanor – no, _Fëanáro,_ Elurin thought to himself. Even if they were the same person, in this time the great Noldo was known as Fëanáro, and Elurín ought to practice now before he slipped up during a conversation.

There was an entrance hall with bas-reliefs carved onto the walls, and a high ceiling from which hung a glittering chandelier. From there, Lirindiel showed them the library, and Elurín was shocked to see so many books and scrolls in one place. Not even Amon Ereb’s library had this many books! He wanted to sit down at one of the long tables and read the first book on the nearest shelf, but Lirindiel led them onward, and he followed with a sigh.

Fëanáro’s house seemed like a maze on the inside. So many corridors and halls, but Elurín was glad to find some open balustrades. Laurelin’s light washed over them as they strolled past one such balustrade, and Elurín looked out onto the house’s grounds. The lawns were manicured and green, and tall trees grew here and there. There was even an ornamental pond that cut through a garden, burbling happily and shimmering in Laurelin’s light. 

Elurín’s stomach grumbled as they passed down another corridor. He could smell the mouth-watering aroma of baking bread and something stewing. They came to a set of doors that were open, and Elurín and Eluréd looked inside to see a large kitchen. Several Elves dressed in white aprons were there, some standing at ovens and stoves while others kneaded dough and chopped vegetables. The sound of clattering pots and conversing cooks filled the air.

“Hail, Lirindiel,” a new voice said. Elurín and Eluréd spun around to see an Elf with dark hair coming over to them. He wore an apron like the others and was wiping his hands with a towel. 

“Well met, Mastaro,” Lirindiel replied. “I trust we are not being a bother?”

“Not at all!” Mastaro’s gaze fell on Elurín and Eluréd, and they shifted closer to Lirindiel. And yet, Elurín thought, there was something familiar about this cook. Something in the eyes, perhaps?

“Are these the two young ones that Lord Nelyafinwë spoke of?”

Lirindiel stepped to the side so that he could see them better. “Boys, this is Mastaro, our head cook.”

Elurín shifted on his feet, embarrassed. Beside him, Eluréd said in a small voice, “Hello.”

“No need to be shy,” Mastaro said. “Here. Wait a moment.” And he went over to a table where a basket sat, picked something from it, and returned to the twins. He held out his hand, and Elurín saw two strawberries on his palm.

“A little appetizer before the mid meal,” Mastaro said with a wink.

The strawberries were red and ripe. Elurín’s mouth watered at the sight, but first he looked to Lirindiel. When she nodded with encouragement, he took one of the strawberries and bit into it. The sweetness of the fruit burst over his tongue.

Eluréd did the same, and they enjoyed the taste of the fruits for a moment. Once finished, they both thanked him. Elurín peered closer at the cook. Was it just his imagination, or was there _truly_ something familiar about Mastaro?

His musings were broken by a new voice, ringing clear amidst the kitchen’s commotion.

“Atto, Atto!” A young boy halted at Mastaro’s side, holding a sack. “I got the extra flour – oh!” The boy stared at Elurín and Eluréd over the sack he carried.

Elurín likewise stared back. Everything around him grew muted. This boy … He _knew_ this boy. The dark brown hair, the warm brown eyes … A memory surfaced in Elurín’s mind, one of eating hot porridge in the fortress’ kitchen on Amon Ereb, served by a cook who wore a red headscarf and a stained apron. Maedhros had brought them there for an early breakfast after they had awoken … After Maedhros had saved them from the snow.

“Ah, my son, these are our new guests,” Mastaro said.

The boy inclined his head, peering at them curiously. “Well met. I am Laiquehepar. I made the soup for you.” When neither Elurín nor Eluréd said anything, Laiquehepar continued, as though it were obvious, “The soup you ate when you first arrived?”

More memories flashed through Elurín’s mind, all of them clear and recent – the cook making them their favourite soup and porridge for meals; passing them a treat or two whenever they felt out of sorts; letting them stir the contents of the big soup pot over the cooking fires.

“Er,” Elurín said, still searching for his voice, unable to take his eyes away from the young boy who would one day become head cook of Himring, and later of the fortress upon Amon Ereb.

Laephebron was his name in Sindarin. But in Quenya, it was Laiquehepar.

“It was very good,” Eluréd said, jarring Elurín out of his thoughts. “Thank you for the soup.”

Elurín attempted to gather his bearings. They were in a kitchen, but now Lirindiel led them away, and now Elurín stood in the bedchamber that he shared with Eluréd.

“Brother? Are you listening?”

Elurín shook himself and looked up. Eluréd stood before him, but Lirindiel was not there.

“What is it? What has happened?” Elurín asked.

His brother huffed. “You are thinking about Laephebron.”

Elurín wrung his hands together. “It _was_ him. I was not imagining things. But how –”

“He told us he was born in Valinor,” Eluréd said. “And his father … He was – is – head cook too? Now I know where Laephebron got it from.”

Elurín managed a small smile, but he could not quell the hammering of his heart. Seeing Laephebron again brought back more memories of Amon Ereb, and Elurín felt an ache in his heart, a deep longing for cool air of the north, the study stone of the fortress, the warm embraces of his adar, and Maglor, and Amras. He wanted to be bundled in thick wool blankets and eat Laephebron’s porridge while listening to Maglor’s lullabies. He wanted … 

Eluréd reached up and touched Elurín’s cheek. Eluréd blinked; he had not noticed the tears before they fell. His brother’s smile was understanding yet sad, and he wrapped his arms around Elurín’s shoulders. Elurín hugged him back, glad again that he had his brother at his side.

“Everything will be alright,” Eluréd murmured. “You will see.”

Elurín prayed that he was right.

As the Two Trees waxed and waned, Elurín took to counting the time to keep track. By his estimation, three days had passed since their arrival at Fëanáro’s house. Things were settling for them; they had a routine of going to the library and exploring the grounds while Lirindiel watched over them.

Often they went to the kitchens to see Laephebron again. Elurín had yet to get used to this young Laephebron – _Laiquehepar,_ he corrected himself yet again – knowing that he would one day end up in Beleriand where Morgoth’s power reigned. Elurín reassured himself with the knowledge that his friend would at least survive through all the wars and skirmishes plaguing the land. As for afterward? He did not know, and perhaps that was for the best.

Both he and Eluréd only saw Maitimo when he came to check on them in the “evenings,” but Elurín was dearly happy to see him at all. He still had to restrain himself from burying his face in Maitimo’s shoulder, but the want was still there.

How long would he and Eluréd remain here before they could return home? Would they stay for so long that they forgot Maedhros of Amon Ereb? Their lives in Beleriand, in Doriath? The thought made him shudder. No, he refused to forget. Whatever was going on, he would not forget his roots.

After breakfast on the fourth day, Elurín and Eluréd went to the library. Elurín was more prone to sit and read while Eluréd ran up and down the winding staircases, exploring every nook and cranny. Elurín huffed. At least his brother was quiet and did not topple anything. Sometimes Elurín worried that Eluréd might run into something and send whole shelves and books flying, but his twin had learned to move as nimbly as Amras. At least, he did so sometimes.

As Elurín turned a page, reading a copy of the famous Elemmírë’s poems, he heard soft footsteps and glanced up. The book slipped from his hands onto the table. “Ad – I mean, Lord Nelyafinwë!”

Maitimo smiled. Out of the corner of his eye, Elurín saw that Eluréd had reached his side, gazing up at Maitimo as Elurín now did. His adar’s red hair was pulled back into a thick plait that hung below his waist. Laurelin’s light streamed through the long, glass windows, and fell upon Maitimo’s face. His freckles softly flashed in the light like golden stars.

“Just Maitimo, please,” he said gently. “I am sorry to disturb you from your reading.”

“Oh, er –” Several replies died in Elurín’s throat, but Eluréd quickly said, “It is no disturbance at all.”

“That is very well,” Maitimo said, bringing up a chair, “for I have some news to tell you.”

They all sat down on the same side of the table, with Maitimo facing them. “I have found a household that is willing to take you in. If you are willing, I will arrange a time for you to meet the lord and lady who live there.”

Elurín stared at him, uncomprehending. A household? Arrange a time?

“Wh-what?” Eluréd said.

Maitimo glanced back and forth between their faces. “”A new home,” he said clearly. “For you both.”

A cold wave washed over Elurín, and he leapt forward as though to escape that cold, reaching out to grasp a handful of Maitimo’s satin sleeve. Maitimo started, looking down at him in surprise, and Elurín’s face burned. “I am sorry,” he whispered, but could not bring himself to release Maitimo’s sleeve.

He remembered his adar telling them of Sirion and the survivors of Doriath who dwelled there, and of his plans to send them away. Not because he no longer wanted them, but because he wished to keep them safe. In the end, after many talks and debates, the twins were allowed to stay in Amon Ereb for longer.

This was different, Elurín reminded himself. This was not a case of sending them away for good. Or was it?

Eluréd came over to his side, looking up at their adar with determined eyes. “Maitimo,” he said, as steady as he could, “we want to stay. Here.”

A small furrow appeared between Maitimo’s brows, and it was such a familiar sight that a lump formed in Elurín’s throat.

“May I ask why?” Maitimo asked, low and careful.

Eluréd bit his lip. Elurín likewise shifted on his feet. The idea of telling Maitimo that they were from the future did not sit well in his stomach. How would he treat them if he knew? Their bond with Maedhros of Amon Ereb was strengthened by years of interaction and shared trauma. Looking upon this Maedhros, Lord Nelyafinwë Maitimo, Elurín was overcome by the fact that this was not the same adar as the one they knew. If he was, there would be no trouble in telling him everything, would there?

“Please, Maitimo,” Elurín said, his voice hushed. “Can we stay here? Please?”

Maitimo gazed at them for a long moment. Something flickered in his blue gaze, as though he was trying to peer into their minds and learn the truth. Elurín was not particularly afraid of his probing, piercing eyes. He had learned long ago that Maedhros would never hurt them. Even if he one day sent them away for whatever reason, Elurín knew that it would hurt Maedhros’ heart as much as his and Eluréd’s.

But this Maedhros, Maitimo, was not like their adar. He had not yet gone through all the things that their adar did, and it made Elurín wonder. If Maitimo thought something was for their own good, would he do it even if it hurt them? Would he send them away to this new household even though they begged him not to?

Elurín hoped he would not, _prayed_ he would not. _Great Valar, please, do not let us be turned away._

Eventually Maitimo heaved a great sigh. “I will think about it,” he said. 

Elurín relaxed with utter relief. His heart was still pounding like mad. “Thank you.”

A slight smile tugged at the corner of Maitimo’s lips, but Elurín did not miss the lingering, questioning look that the Elven lord laid upon them.

* * *

Maitimo strode down the corridor at a brisk pace, deep in thought. He could still feel the child’s small grip on his arm, bunching up his sleeve, and the intensity of both their gazes upon him. A shiver passed down his spine. Why did they make him feel so? It was not a malicious shadow that covered them, that he was sure of. No, it was more the heaviness in their eyes that put him at unease. A strange, haunted weariness, as though they had seen too much despite their young age.

The loss of their family was the only explanation he could think of. Maitimo remembered seeing such a look in Fëanáro’s eyes during the rare times that his father thought nobody was watching. The loss of Miriel still weighed heavily on him.

But something about the children’s grief felt different. Theirs was tempered, and in a good way. Lirindiel had told him that the boys were healthy and seemed well-raised, at least from what could be outwardly seen. Had someone taken care of the children in the past, when they were “wandering and lost”? Perhaps a Maia had found them and tended to their worries. Maitimo could only hope that it was so.

The scent of cooking stew made his stomach rumble, and Maitimo looked up to see that he had stopped outside the kitchen. When did he get there?

He spotted Mastaro coming over to him, with Laiquehepar close at his heels. “Anything you need, my lord? You were standing there for a little while.”

“Oh – no, thank you, Mastaro,” Maitimo said. He glanced at Laiquehepar and took note of the ladle in the boy’s hands. “Making the famous soup, are we?”

Laiquehepar grinned. “Eluréd and Elurín really like it.”

Maitimo kept his smile up, though something tightened in his chest at the mention of the young twins.

“They are becoming good friends,” Mastaro commented, ruffling his son’s hair. Then he leaned closer to Maitimo and said, in a lower tone, “I am glad for it. He does not get out as much as I would like.”

Maitimo arched a brow. “There are some children in Formenos.”

“There are not many, and those I have met are not much interested in cooking,” Laiquehepar put in, a downcast expression on his face. “Besides, I like being in the kitchen.” The boy brightened. “Eluréd and Elurín do not mind when I talk about cooking. I even showed them my herb collection!” He puffed his chest proudly.

As much as Maitimo hated to ruin a good mood, it was better to let them know sooner than later. “That is good to hear. Yet I am afraid that they will likely leave soon.”

Both Mastaro and Laiquehepar stared at him in surprise. “Leave? Why?” the boy asked.

“There is a household in the capital that will take them in,” Maitimo explained. “They cannot stay here forever. And my father does not want them underfoot.”

Laiquehepar looked as though somebody had just destroyed his herb collection. He looked up at Mastaro, no doubt expecting his father to intercede. Mastaro hesitated. “Has Prince Fëanáro forbidden them to remain?"

"No. It is my judgement that they should have a new home."

"When will they be sent away, my lord?”

“I have yet to introduce them to the ones who will care for them,” Maitimo said, eyeing the cook with a growing suspicion. “Why do you ask?”

“I am only curious,” Mastaro replied with a too-innocent look on his face. Laiquehepar lowered his gaze.

Maitimo decided to let it be. He bid them farewell and went on his way, yet as he thought about it, he began to wonder whether sending the children away was a good thing. The look of sadness in their eyes came back to him. He did not know everything about these twins, their true heritage, the full events of their past. Ought he to hand over these children, with their odd weariness, to an unknowing family who might not know how to treat them?

He should have pressed the children for more information. Maitimo sighed, running a hand through his hair. But something had held him back. Something … He did not know what it was.

Perhaps he just did not want to make them relive whatever they had gone through. Maitimo halted in his steps at that thought. Whatever they had gone through, how could it have happened? This was Valinor! A land of peace and light … _But no, not always,_ a voice whispered in his mind. _Remember Atar and Uncle Nolofinwë._

Perhaps … A rift caused by Melkor’s lies. Loathing seethed below the surface, and Maitimo scowled. He would not be surprised if it was that Vala’s doing that cost the children their family.

And so they came to Formenos. Well, they would be safe here. The Noldor were alert with every waxing and waning for Melkor’s return, especially after the latter’s last appearance. He would not catch them at unawares again.

Maitimo breathed deeply and continued onward. 

The next waxing of Laurelin brought Mastaro to Maitimo’s study. “My lord,” the cook said with a bow. “I have a proposition to make.”

“Very well. Let us hear it,” Maitimo said, leaning back in his seat behind the polished oak table.

“It concerns the twins, Eluréd and Elurín.” Mastaro straightened his shoulders, visibly steeling himself. “My wife and I are willing to take them in.”

Maitimo levelled him with a steady gaze. In truth he was surprised, even if he had suspected something before. “I trust there is a reason behind this?”

“The twins do not want to leave,” Mastaro said simply.

Maitimo successfully hid his further surprise from his face. He supposed it should be no shock; Lirindiel had told him that the children frequented the kitchen often. They would have had many opportunities to speak with Mastaro and Laiquehepar.

“And your family agrees to this?” he asked.

Mastaro inclined his head. “My wife finds joy in children. We plan to have another, but we have been busy of late. Yet there is enough space in our house, and the twins can help us in our work.”

Maitimo rubbed his chin in thought. It was not a bad arrangement. “I must tell you of their past, if you have not heard it already.”

Mastaro nodded, and Maitimo spoke of what the twins had said to Fëanáro. Once he was finished, Mastaro remained silent, deep in thought. It was hard to tell from his expression what he was thinking, yet Maitimo remained patient.

Then he said, “My decision remains unchanged. They are kindly children, and now this is a chance to offer them a home that they will be comfortable in.”

“You are so certain they will be comfortable with you?”

“They said as much to me, more than once.”

“If you are serious about this,” Maitimo began.

“I am.”

“Then you may have them. But Mastaro – if it turns out that they are incompatible with your family, you must bring the matter to me at once. I am sure none of us want disruption in this household.” Valar knew that any sort of disruption could lead to worse things in his family … 

Mastaro bowed his head, “Yes, my lord.”

Maitimo stood. It was nearing the evening meal, and he had enough time before then to tell the children of what had transpired. His lips turned up in a smile. They would no doubt be pleased to hear it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The drawings here are from my illustrated summary of In Elin Gelebrin: I Echui (the first chapter of the fic). I gave Amon Ereb's cook a name and a little backstory, as you can see XDD
> 
> Hope you're all doing well and staying safe!  
> Your comments and kudos are greatly appreciated :D


	7. Thinking of Home

Mastaro and his family dwelled in the servants’ quarters, which was in its own wing of the whole estate. Elurín and Eluréd soon found out that they were closer to Fëanáro’s wing now than when they were in their guest chamber. That meant they were closer to Maitimo. The thought warmed Elurín up like a big bowl of fresh porridge.

Speaking of porridge, they now had ample access to the kitchen. Laiquehepar spoke of his cooking with enthusiasm, and Elurín’s thoughts turned to old Laephebron of Amon Ereb. In time this beaming boy would grow to be an exiled Noldo, forced to take up the sword to fight in the many battles of Beleriand, taking wound after wound that left pale scars, until finally he would enter the kitchen in Amon Ereb and become a simple head cook. Shadow and memory would layer upon him like the many spices he now tossed into a bowl, mixing and mixing until it became unbearable. But he would still smile and stir the pot, serving Elurín and Eluréd their favourite soup.

Elurín did not know whether to turn away or keep watching as Laiquehepar conducted one of his spice experiments. How could he watch when he knew what would happen? How could anyone bear it?

It was worse when he thought of his adar and what would happen to him. 

After another couple of days, Elurín and Eluréd successfully learned of Maitimo’s schedule from a combination of asking and observing. When they were not helping in the kitchens or setting the dining hall table, they hurried out to watch as Maitimo and his companions led their horses out of the stables for a ride. At other times, they accompanied him to his next destination, either a meeting with stewards and such, or to his study where he would remain alone and work. Maitimo did not protest against their company, and Elurín was ever grateful for these chances to be with him, even if it made his own heart heavy.

And it brought to mind memories of home. Which in turn made Elurín wonder how they were to return. They had stayed for days in Fëanáro’s house with no discussion of what to do!

Therefore one evening, after finishing their dinner and getting ready for bed, Elurín asked, “Should we not go to the Valar?”

Eluréd paused in fluffing up his pillow. “I think we should,” he said after a moment. “But I … I do not know how to get to them.”

“We could ask Adar,” Elurín suggested.

Eluréd’s brow furrowed. “We would have to _tell_ him, then.”

“We would have to tell _someone,_ ” Elurín pointed out. “How else will they take us seriously and show us where the Valar are?”

“You think they will take us seriously if we tell them we are from the future?” Eluréd shook his head. “We are strange enough as it is.”

When Elurín began to protest, Eluréd huffed with impatience. “We look different, because we are Sindarin. And we have a Sindarin accent.”

“Well, that is not so bad,” Elurín said, though with some doubt. He had never thought of it like that before.

“It is not just that,” Eluréd said, and suddenly he seemed very tired. “Adar looks at us funny, have you not noticed? And Mastaro too, sometimes. They think something is strange about us.”

Elurín wanted to say otherwise, but could find no retort. Eluréd took his silence with a nod, set his pillow down, and lay back on the bed. Elurín sighed and lay down too.

For a moment neither of them said anything. Elurín wondered what Maitimo thought of them. What did he see when he saw them? Was he put off by their closeness to him? Did he truly think them strange?

“No,” he breathed aloud. “Adar loves us.”

Beside him, Eluréd turned onto his side, and his silver-white hair gleamed in Telperion’s waxing light. “Indeed he does,” he murmured.

They tried to make a plan the next day, holding whispered conversations whenever they were alone or passing through an empty corridor. But no matter how much they talked, they could not come up with a plan, and it frustrated Elurín.

Following after his adar was the only thing that made him feel better. The familiar red hair, tall stance, kindly smile … Elurín wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and convince himself that this _was_ the fortress on Amon Ereb, and that they were home. He wanted to, very much.

But the Valar …

Elurín did not know what would happen if they found the Valar. What if they were taken away from Formenos, from where Maitimo was? Where would they go? He hugged his arms about himself, shivering, leaning against his brother. His heart hammered every time he considered the possibilities. No, he did not want to be taken away. He wanted to stay where his adar was.

No wonder they could not come up with a plan.

The thoughts did not plague Elurín as much when he worked in the kitchens. In fact, they slipped from his mind, replaced by more pleasant things, like food and good company. He and Eluréd had agreed to help with chores in gratitude for Mastaro’s help, and so Mastaro let them wash dishes and put them away, and even chop up some vegetables.

“You are a good hand at the knife,” Laiquehepar commented to Eluréd.

Eluréd only smiled, and Elurín could guess his thoughts. Both of them had learned chopping in the kitchens of Amon Ereb by the head cook himself.

“Boys,” Mastaro called. “Would you take these dishes and help set the table?”

“Which table?” Elurín asked as he hurried over to take some plates.

“The one in the dining hall, where the lords eat. Laiquehepar will show you where it is.”

Elurín’s heart thumped against his ribs. The dining hall? Where Maitimo ate? And his brothers, and father, and grandfather?

“Come on!” Laiquehepar called from the kitchen doorway. Elurín and Eluréd hurried to follow, bearing their load of plates and utensils.

The dining hall was not too far from the kitchens. It was spacious, with a high ceiling, and lined with stone pillars. Elurín peered close at the pillars; the engraving upon them was intricate and detailed, with curving branches, birds in flight, and many-veined leaves –

“Elurín,” Laiquehepar said, hands on his hips. “The table is over here!”

Elurín hastened over to the table and set his plates down. Eluréd was already arranging the sets. There were ten chairs around the long table, which was odd. Elurín knew that Finwë dwelled in this house, but with him included, that only made nine.

“Do the lords eat here during all mealtimes?” Elurín asked as he laid down a fork and knife for one set.

Laiquehepar took out a clean cloth and wiped one of the glasses. “Of course! Well, sometimes one or two of them go off to who-knows-where.”

“What about guests?”

“Lord Curufinwë has a son,” Laiquehepar replied. “Sometimes he eats with the lords.”

Elurín cast his thoughts back to his lessons. _Curufinwë …_ That was Curufin. And his son … _Celebrimbor!_

That explained the tenth chair at the table. “Should we set all of the places, then?” Elurín asked. “What if Lord Curufinwë’s son does not come today?”

“He will,” a low voice replied.

All three of them whipped around to see Fëanáro standing in the doorway.

Laiquehepar bowed low. “My lord.”

Elurín and Eluréd did the same. Elurín’s heart pounded like mad as Fëanáro’s footsteps came close. What was he doing here? How long had he stood there, watching them?

“I will set the place, then, my lord,” Eluréd said at his side, and Elurín dared to look up as his brother moved around the table. He set the plate and utensils down quickly, hands trembling, and for one wild moment Elurín feared that Eluréd would drop the glass onto the floor.

But he did not, and soon the entire table was all ready. Eluréd returned to his bow.

“Laiquehepar,” Fëanáro said. “Tell Mastaro that we will have Telperinquar’s favourite for dessert.”

Laiquehepar nodded and hurried off, hesitating in the doorway only to look back at the twins. Then he was gone.

“Raise your heads,” Fëanáro said. As calm as his voice was, Elurín knew it to be a command, so he straightened and looked up. 

Seeing Fëanáro in the full light of the lamps and candles sent a shiver down Elurín’s spine. Even though the prince was not as tall as Maitimo, his presence took up the whole of the dining hall, sucking in the light of the lamps.

It suddenly hit him that he was standing before the Elven lord who would shape the events of Arda. He crafted the Silmarils, he swore the Oath … And from there his sons would go on to carry out his final wishes. A cold fist seized Elurín’s heart, turning his blood to ice. 

_The Kinslaying at Alqualondë. You began it._

From his lessons, Elurín had been impressed upon Fëanor’s work, the importance of it, how it related to the loss of his and Eluréd’s home. To think that all of that could be contained in this one Elf … Elurín half-expected the walls to blow, unable to withhold Fëanáro’s might.

"So," Fëanáro said. "You are staying with Mastaro."

"Yes, my lord," Eluréd replied.

“Yet I hear you have been following my eldest during the day.”

A cold sweat trickled down the back of Elurín’s neck, hidden by his hair.

“We – we like him very much, my lord,” Eluréd said, a tremor in his voice. “He checks up on us. He is very kind.”

“He said we can walk with him, if we like,” Elurín added, using every bit of his willpower not to squeak. 

Fëanáro’s expression did not change, but something passed behind his eyes like a fleeting shadow. Did he not like the idea of the twins walking with Maitimo, or perhaps of Maitimo allowing them?

“We will not cause any trouble,” Eluréd promised.

Fëanáro’s gaze burned into their faces. Elurín could hardly breathe.

“I will hold you to that. For now –” Fëanáro glanced at the set table, “carry on.”

With that, he turned and left the dining hall.

Elurín’s knees shook, nearly giving way beneath him, and he grasped the table’s edge to keep his balance. At his side, Eluréd exhaled slowly. His eyes were glazed over with mingled fear and loathing.

They did not speak of their encounter until after lunch, in the safety of their bedchamber. Eluréd stomped around the room, fists clenched at his sides.

“For all that Astorren taught us,” he fumed, “he failed to tell us that Fëanor is a – a –”

“Thoroughly unpleasant person?” Elurín offered.

Eluréd grudgingly nodded. “Yes, that. Though I was hoping for a harsher way to say it.” He halted near the window, a haunted look on his face. “He is the start of it all. If not for him –”

“If not for a lot of things,” Elurín said, “everything would be different. The Kinslayings, the wars … Meeting Adar.”

Eluréd wrinkled his nose. “I still do not like him.”

That was something Elurín could agree with.

“Speaking of Adar,” Eluréd continued, “where is he now?”

“He should be at the stables for his afternoon ride. Why do you ask?” Elurín’s eyes widened at his brother’s too-innocent look. “You cannot look for him now! What if Fëanor finds out and –”

“Even if we stop today, we will still go tomorrow. Or next week,” Eluréd pointed out. “It does not matter. He will find out in any case.”

“But – is it not too soon?” Elurín asked weakly. 

Eluréd shrugged and went to the door. “He will not stop me from seeing Adar. You can come along, if you like.”

“We are talking about _Fëanor!_ ”

Eluréd yanked the door open and stepped out into the corridor. Elurín wanted to run over and kick his brother, and he wanted to join him to see Maitimo.

If only Fëanáro was not around!

Elurín squeezed his eyes shut, counted to three, and dashed off after Eluréd. His brother grinned when he saw him, and playfully nudged Elurín’s shoulder.

They left Fëanáro’s house, heading through a side entrance onto the grounds and taking the path to the stables. Laurelin’s light fell over them as they went, and in the distance Elurín could see the Trees, growing tall and bright. It felt like ages since that day when they woke up underneath the Trees, covered in silver and golden dewdrops. A dream, almost.

They soon reached their destination. The stables were big on the outside, built with as much care as the other buildings in Formenos. Elurín had never seen the inside, yet as they neared the building, he heard soft snorts and the sound of hooves clopping on the ground.

They both halted at the large door. “Are you sure it is alright to go in?” Elurín whispered. “What if we get into trouble?” In all the other times they had gone to the stables, Maedhros had been with them, but they never followed him inside.

“It should be,” Eluréd replied, though his hand trembled as he grasped the door handle. “We were not told to keep away, were we?”

“That depends on who you spoke to.”

Elurín’s heart nearly burst from his chest. He and Eluréd spun around just as an Elf stepped out from around the stables, dressed only in a cream-coloured tunic and breeches. A bow and quiver were slung over his shoulder, and at his feet stood the largest hound that Elurín had ever seen.

It was not the hound that sent the chilling shivers through Elurín’s body, or even the Elf’s cold gaze. It was just that he _knew._ He knew, as certain as he was that they stood in the past, that this was the Noldo who killed – who _would kill_ – Dior Eluchíl, Elurín and Eluréd’s birth father.

_Celegorm._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, Feanor's design! Keep in mind he wouldn't be wearing the Silmarils in the open here loll  
> And oh boy, Celegorm. That'll be a meeting for the next chapter hehehh XDDD
> 
> Your comments and kudos mean a lot! Thank you everybody!! :D


	8. Wild Star and Gentle Star

Celegorm’s grey-blue eyes held Elurín and Eluréd frozen in place, cold and unyielding. “Your names,” he said, and Elurín flinched at his smooth, stone-like voice. “What business do you have here?”

Elurín trembled where he stood. He had not seen Celegorm during the Kinslaying at Doriath, but he knew of what happened. Memories, blurred and kept hidden, suddenly rose to the forefront of his mind. Blazing fires and glinting blades, terrified screams and thundering footsteps – all assaulted Elurín’s senses, and he shrunk close to Eluréd’s side, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Well?” Celegorm said sharply. “Speak!”

Elurín felt Eluréd stiffen. “It is not your business to know,” he said boldly.

Elurín sucked in a sharp breath and stared at his brother, horrified. _What are you doing?_ he wanted to cry. 

Celegorm appraised Eluréd for a brief moment, taking a step closer. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with waves and thin braids of ivory hair falling below his waist. Elurín and Eluréd instinctively stepped back, and Celegorm smirked slightly, but without humour.

“You are brave to speak as such,” he said. “Or is it a fool’s bravado you bear?”

Elurín clutched at Eluréd’s sleeve, hoping to bring his brother to his senses, but Eluréd pulled away. “It is not bravery,” he said. “There is nothing to be afraid of.”

“Is that so?” Celegorm spoke low and soft, almost gentle, but there was a danger in it that Elurín felt the need to run from. This was a hunter, one who coaxed his prey into believing safety before slaughtering them without a second thought. “Know you not who I am?”

“Tyelkormo, third son of Prince Fëanáro,” Eluréd said swiftly.

Celegorm’s eyes flashed. Elurín quailed even further, seeing a cross of swords in his mind’s eye, parrying, striking –

“To you it is _Lord Turcafinwë._ ” Celegorm’s voice drew Elurín from his memories. “Who permitted you the use of my Amilesse?”

Eluréd winced, and Elurín berated them both for forgetting, even if Elurín had not been the one to make the mistake. Mother-names were not like Father-names: they were more personal, more intimate, and using them required a close relationship with the bearer. Elurín and Eluréd only knew Celegorm’s Mother-name through the stories that Maedhros, Maglor, and Amras told them. Later they learned of the Noldorin naming customs from Astorren. How could they have forgotten the rules?

 _Have mercy,_ Elurín tried to say, but no sound came out. The fires continued to rage in the caverns of his mind.

There was a shuffling sound, and, with effort, Elurín lowered his gaze to the source. At Celegorm’s feet stood Huan, the Hound of Valinor, who would one day aid Beren and Lúthien, the twins’ grandparents. He was taller than Elurín imagined, with his head nearly at Celegorm’s waist, putting him just a handspan above the twins. Elurín focused his attention on Huan; the hound’s dark eyes were considerably softer than his master’s, gleaming softly as he met Elurín’s gaze.

“Did you not hear me?” Celegorm demanded with rising impatience.

“I did,” Eluréd snapped back, “and I would rather not say.”

Huan whined softly. Celegorm’s nostrils flared. He took another step forward, and Elurín felt his brother tense, but at that moment, the door to the stables opened and out stepped Maitimo.

“Brother!” he exclaimed. “I heard raised voices. What –”

He spotted Elurín and Eluréd, and his eyes widened. “Boys! What are you doing here?”

“You know them?” Celegorm asked, sounding incredulous.

Elurín had lost his voice. How would they get out of this now?

“They are under my care,” Maitimo replied, looking back and forth between his brother and the twins. “Is there a problem?”

“Tell your charges of the proper way to address a lord,” Celegorm said, casting a chilling look at Elurín and Eluréd. “This one –” He jerked his chin at Eluréd, “speaks with an unrestrained tongue. It is clear he was given no discipline at all.”

“That is a lie!” Eluréd cried. Elurín gasped and gripped his brother’s arm, to no avail. Both Maitimo and Celegorm turned to Eluréd in surprise.

“A wild one indeed,” Celegorm said, voice menacingly smooth, and Elurín wanted to flee from his sight. “You should know better than to speak as such to your lords.”

Eluréd opened his mouth to retort, and Elurín braced himself for the worst.

“Eluréd,” Maitimo said firmly, “that is enough.”

For a moment it seemed as though Eluréd might refuse. He stared at Maitimo, eyes glistening with hurt, yet no words came out. Elurín knew then that his brother was not seeing Maitimo as _Maitimo,_ but as Adar Maedhros.

Then Maitimo glanced up over their heads, and Elurín followed his gaze to see Mastaro hurrying towards them from the house. The head cook came to a halt once he was near, huffing and puffing, bowing his head toward the brothers. “My lords. Apologies. I was looking for the children.”

Maitimo gave a brisk nod. “Boys, go with him. I will speak to you later.”

Elurín tugged on Eluréd’s arm when the latter did not move. _"Muindor nîn,"_ he whispered, quieter than a breath.

A heartbeat passed, and then Eluréd looked away from Maitimo. Elurín exhaled in relief, keeping close to his brother as they followed Mastaro back to the house. He glanced over his shoulder more than once; Maitimo seemed to be speaking with Celegorm, and they soon disappeared into the stables. Yet Huan remained outside for a moment longer, watching after the twins before following his master inside.

Once they reached the kitchens, Mastaro set them to work in putting the dishes away. Elurín was glad for the distraction of chores. Celegorm’s face burned in his mind, sharp-edged and clear as crystal. He had known, in a distant way, that Maitimo’s brothers lived within the same house, but he never imagined that he would truly meet one of them! And Celegorm, of all people! Elurín’s eyes stung, and he hastily wiped his eyes.

Behind the coolness of his lids, he saw a flurry of ivory hair. Or was it dark? Elurín’s hands trembled around a ceramic dish. All that had happened in Doriath – his parents, the fighting, the fleeing – he did not remember any of it, yet these flashes of memory still appeared. Had he seen Celegorm that night? Or was he only part of a bad dream?

A gleam of metal, of two points in the darkness. Feral eyes.

Elurín shuddered, focusing on the dish in his hands.

He only remembered the aftermath of the Kinslaying, and in so much detail that it hurt his head to think about. The rustling trees, the shadows that poured into every space, the first flurries of snow. He remembered longing for Ada Dior and Nana Nimloth, and even little Elwing. The insistent growling of his stomach. The panic that spiked through him to see the gathering snow clouds above.

The numbness that seeped into his freezing limbs. The weight of horror and despair upon his shoulders as Eluréd fell to the snow-layered ground, sprawled like a doll – 

Dishes clattered together nearby as Eluréd replaced his stack in a cupboard. The cupboard door closed with a bang.

Elurín exhaled slowly, his heart pounding furiously. He carefully set the dish down on the counter. How long had he stood still?

“Gently now,” Mastaro called from the other side of the kitchen. “Come here, Eluréd. I have more dishes.”

Elurín watched as his brother trudged his way over to the sink where Mastaro stood. “Here,” the head cook murmured, handing him a dish towel. “Dry them off first.”

They were putting away the last of the dishes when Maitimo entered the kitchen. Elurín’s hands shook even harder as he closed a cupboard door; it had only been ten or so minutes, surely enough time to prepare an explanation, but he was not ready to face this talk.

“Boys,” Maitimo said. “Come with me.”

Elurín and Eluréd exchanged a nervous glance before following Maitimo into an antechamber. Laurelin’s waning light fell over a desk covered in a small stack of parchment. A shelf on one side held a number of jars filled with herbs, a small part of Laiquehepar’s herb collection. This was where Mastaro dealt with the numbers and reports of food supplies. 

Maitimo shut the door and moved over to stand next to the table, facing them. Elurín fiddled with the hem of his sleeve, looking anywhere but at Maitimo. Even Eluréd kept his gaze averted.

“What happened?” Maitimo asked.

For some reason, hearing him speak quietly made Elurín feel worse than if he had shouted. Whether Eluréd felt the same or not, Elurín could not tell. His brother raised his head; there was a spark of defiance in his face.

“Lord Turcafinwë wanted to know what we were doing at the stables,” he explained. “I refused to answer him.”

“Yes, he said the same.” Maitimo frowned. “Why did you refuse him?”

Eluréd hesitated, then said, “I did not want to tell him.”

“Will you tell me?”

Elurín chanced looking up at him. Maitimo did not appear upset or even annoyed. He seemed only curious, perhaps a little tired. Guilt twisted in Elurín’s chest. They were surely making things hard for their adar.

“We wanted to see you off,” Eluréd mumbled, a faint flush in his cheeks.

Maitimo tilted his head. “That does not sound so bad. Why could you not tell him?”

“Because he –” Eluréd halted himself in his outburst. Tears shone in his eyes, and Elurín took his brother’s hand with a gentle squeeze.

“What is it?” Maitimo prompted. 

“Your pardon, my lord,” Eluréd murmured. “It is personal.”

“Indeed it is, for it concerns my brother. This should only be a trivial matter, but you make me think otherwise.”

Elurín winced. He had never kept silent before his adar back home; he could tell Maedhros almost anything, but now he must not. Likewise, Eluréd said nothing.

Maitimo gazed long and hard at them. “You used my brother’s Mother-name before his Father-name. I have a feeling that that was no mistake.”

Eluréd’s eyes flashed with rekindled boldness. “It was.”

Maitimo arched an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

“You let us use _your_ Mother-name right away.”

There was a pause, a heartbeat of silence that lasted too long. “That was – You are children,” Maitimo said at last, though turmoil swam in the blue depths of his eyes. “You were in need, and I did not want you to be afraid.”

“Is that so?” Eluréd said, an odd gleam in his gaze.

Was there something his brother knew that Elurín did not? Elurín could admit that Maedhros’ explanation was not quite convincing, even if it did warm him from within.

“Eluréd,” Maitimo said, speaking as though they were his young, restless brothers, “I will not speak to you while you are like this.”

“And yet you let Lord Turcafinwë speak as such!” Eluréd nearly spat the name. 

“Enough, _hrávelen!_ ” Maitimo said sharply, and both Elurín and Eluréd went still. “What grudge do you hold against him?”

“Do not call me that!” Eluréd cried. “He used it as an insult. I do not want you to use it.”

“Then do not act like one.”

“Please,” Elurín said, his voice a little hoarse from lack of use, “do not fight. Maitimo, my brother meant no harm. It was a – a shock to see Lord Turcafinwë. We did not expect things to get out of hand.”

Maitimo held Elurín’s gaze for a long moment before turning to Eluréd, but the latter scowled and looked away. Maitimo knelt before them and gently cupped Eluréd’s chin to turn his face back.

“Whatever compelled you to act as you did,” he said in a low, serious tone, “it was harmless against Turcafinwë, but intolerable behaviour before the sons of a prince.” His face softened a little. “Rest assured I spoke to my brother of his unlordly words. He ought not to do it again.”

Eluréd glowered in non-committal silence. Maitimo draped a lock of white hair over Eluréd’s shoulder, holding his gaze. “Do you understand, Hrávelen?”

The word – no, the _name_ – was spoken with a gentleness that Elurín had heard before in their endearment, Elin Gelebrin. _My Elin Gelebrin,_ their adar would say, smiling, his eyes crinkling at the edges.

Elurín’s lip wobbled, but he steadied it and took a deep breath. “Maitimo,” he said, and Maitimo looked at him. “If Eluréd is Hrávelen, what am I?”

His adar’s brow furrowed. “I – I did not mean for it to be a name.”

“Maitimo,” Elurín persisted. “What am I to you?”

“You …” Maitimo reached up to brush a stray white hair from Elurín’s face. He seemed startled by his own action, but Elurín hardly moved.

The brief snatches of memory were receding. And now, within Elurín’s memory of snow, he saw red cloth and golden thread.

Red hair and golden freckles.

“You are Lindelen,” Maitimo decided.

 _Lindelen._ It had a pleasant ring. 

“There now, my brother,” Elurín said to Eluréd, smiling, steady once again. “Our names balance. And yours cannot be an insult any longer, not when Maitimo says it so kindly.”

Eluréd offered a grudging smile in return.

“Well then,” Maitimo said, “shall we put this little event to rest? Turcafinwë is willing to meet with you to exchange apologies, and it is rare that he would apologize to anyone.”

Elurín gave Eluréd a pleading look, and Eluréd sighed. “Very well. I will meet with him.”

“And I,” Elurín added, knowing that it was the right thing to do.

Maitimo nodded once. “Thank you.” A spark of pride passed over his face. “You are both brave boys.”

At this moment Elurín believed him. Then he thought again of Celegorm, the hunter, with his stone-edged face and hard eyes.

Could Elurín still be brave, even in the face of the one who killed – _would kill_ – Ada Dior?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sindarin words:  
> Muindor nîn - my brother  
> Elin Gelebrin - Silver Stars
> 
> Quenya names:  
> Hrávelen - Wild Star  
> Lindelen - Gentle Star
> 
> Whew, crisis averted (for now)! Hopefully the apology next chapter will go better ^^; Also, I drew Celegorm in fancy clothes for his design, but remember he's wearing hunting clothes in this chapter loll Can't have him ruining his nice clothes!


	9. The House of Finwë

Elurín and Eluréd met with Celegorm before dinner. Elurín’s stomach flipped and flopped the entire time, even though he had practiced what to say beforehand. And even then, his mind threatened to toss all that preparation out through his ears.

At least Maitimo was there with them. He would guard them against Celegorm.

No, not Celegorm. For what felt like the umpteenth time, Elurín had to remind himself that it was _Tyelkormo_ they were meeting, not Celegorm of the future. _This_ Celegorm had not gone through all that had yet to come. Elurín repeated this in his mind, yet it was hard to grasp when he knew what was to happen.

Tyelkormo stood tall and unimpressed, with Huan sitting at his feet. He watched as Elurín and Eluréd came forward, and remained silent when they halted before him. 

It was evident that they should speak first. Before the silence between them could grow to unbearable levels, Elurín gathered his courage. “Lord Turcafinwë, we beg your pardon for our earlier words.”

His voice must have wavered! And he must have stammered over Turcafinwë’s name – Oh, this was all going terribly wrong! Mortification welled in the pit of Elurín’s stomach.

Tyelkormo merely arched an eyebrow. “You mean your _brother’s_ earlier words, boy.”

Eluréd slowly looked up into Tyelkormo’s face. “That is so. I regret what I said, my lord. I hope you will forgive me.”

Elurín knew that Eluréd did not regret even one word that he had thrown at Tyelkormo’s feet, and neither did Elurín regret it. From the slightest upturn of Tyelkormo’s lips, Elurín suspected that the hunter was not blind to it either.

“I shall give you pardon,” Tyelkormo said. “And in turn I hope you will accept my apology. You are only children. I should have curbed my temper and treated you as such.”

His words sounded oddly mocking to Elurín’s ears, though perhaps he was only imagining it. He nodded in acceptance, as did Eluréd. It was all an act, he thought, and perhaps Maitimo knew this as well, though his adar’s face betrayed nothing. 

It was also very strange, Elurín thought, to hear an apology from Tyelkormo’s lips – because it was not for the murder of Ada Dior and Nana Nimloth, and the massacre of Doriath, that he was asking forgiveness for. The thought sat like a lump of lead in Elurín’s stomach.

The meeting was soon over, thank the Valar! Maitimo escorted Elurín and Eluréd back to their quarters in the servants’ wing, and it seemed that all was right with the world once again. Hopefully they would not have to see Tyelkormo again.

Maitimo faced them at the door. “Have a good sleep, Hrávelen, Lindelen,” he said, speaking the names as though still testing them. Elurín could not help but smile. It was not like being called Elin Gelebrin – the feeling of it was different, and the bond between them and Nelyafinwë Maitimo was not as potent. But it was something. He and Eluréd were still stars in their adar’s eyes, and that was deeply comforting.

The following morning, Mastaro met with Elurín and Eluréd in the kitchen. There was a pile of folded cloaks on one table, dyed the same dark green as the cloaks that Mastaro and Laiquehepar wore.

“Hurry, put them on!” Laiquehepar said, nearly jumping up and down in his excitement.

“Why, where are we going?” Elurín asked as he wrapped a cloak around his shoulders. It was a little overlarge, but warm and woolly.

“We are going to Tirion,” Mastaro said. “To the care of some business and pick up supplies.”

Tirion? Elurín and Eluréd exchanged a look. The last time they were in Tirion … It felt like so long ago. They had met Mahtan and Nerdanel, and Cambamíro! How could Elurín forget? He wondered how they were doing. This might even be a chance to see them again …

They went out to the stables where Mastaro’s assistants waited with saddled horses. Elurín and Eluréd were paired off with two riders while Laiquehepar rode with his father.

And then they were off. Mastaro took the lead, trotting down a mostly straight path through Formenos' city. At first Elurín felt a stab of worry – he had not even said goodbye to Maitimo! When would they return? As they went, however, passing through the gates and into the grassy plains, a thrill went through Elurín at the thought of a morning ride. It was a lovely day, golden and bright with the light of Laurelin, and the air was fresh and mild. It rather felt like a perfect summer day. Getting out of the house for a while did not seem so bad, and when they returned, Elurín would tell Maitimo all about the trip.

Their party made good time riding, and before Laurelin reached her full wax, they reached the northern gates of Tirion. The Mindon Edaliéva shone bright overhead, reaching for the sky. Elurín gazed up at his surroundings in awe. Even though he had seen the city before, the sight was no less magnificent the second time around. Mastaro led them down a large street, and they soon came to a busy marketplace where a great many Noldor were gathered. If Elurín did not know any better, he would have thought Tirion a full city and not missing most of its population. How did all these Elves manage to fit into one space?

"Why is it so busy?" Eluréd asked on Mastaro's other side.

"They must be getting ready for the festival," the head cook replied.

Somehow they managed to get through the crowds, making a few drops along the way as Mastaro spoke to suppliers here and there. The extra horse they had brought was gradually loaded with sacks and parcels – mostly seasonings and herbs and spices. Laiquehepar was especially enthusiastic to pick up the latter two.

When Laurelin began to wane, they stopped to have a Mid Meal. Mastaro brought them out of the marketplace and down a busy street. Elurín had no idea where they were headed now, only that he was getting very hungry. 

"Where are we going?" Eluréd asked eagerly.

"To the park!" Laephebron replied. "They are having the athletic feats there."

"Athletic feats?" Elurín repeated, his interest piqued. The only feats he knew of were the training sessions that Maedhros’ soldiers took part in at Amon Ereb.

"Over there!" Laiquehepar pointed, and Elurín and Eluréd followed his gaze.

Their path opened up to reveal the largest green park that Elurín ever saw. Noldor Elves sat upon the grass with blankets and picnic baskets, watching as yet more Noldor stood further in the park, doing an all-manner of sports. Elurín squinted; discs flew across the grounds on one side, while on the other was a large ring of rope where two opponents wrestled. The spectators crowded around the rope, cheering. And further away, several Noldor burst into a sprint at the sound of a horn.

Elurín was so overcome by the sights and sound that he wanted to leap down and take part in the activities. Their party found a space on the grass near the disc-throwing, and soon they were sitting on a picnic blanket, passing out their Mid Meal.

As Elurín munched on his sliced corn bread and cheese, his attention was drawn to the Noldor standing nearby, taking up discs from a table and testing their weight. The Elves themselves were dark-haired and tall, some wearing their under-tunics while others had removed their top clothing, revealing well-muscled forms that gleamed in Laurelin's light. Sitting beside the table of discs was another dark-haired Noldo who seemed content to watch the sporting events. From the deep rise and fall of his chest, Elurín guessed that this one was resting after having taken part in exerting himself.

"You two can move around, if you like," Mastaro said with an encouraging nod. "Just be sure to keep in our sights."

Eluréd grasped Elurín's hand, eyes shining with excitement. "Where should we go first?"

"The discs!" Elurín said. It was nearest to them, after all.

They nervously approached the table with the discs, watching as one of the participants took aim and threw a disc with all his might. It arched through the air and went far, too far for Elurín to see where it landed. Yet it must have been a good one, for the others around him cheered and laughed. 

Eluréd came close to the table and reached out to touch one of the stone discs. It was carved with elaborate, swirling designs. “Eluréd!” Elurín hissed. “Do not touch it!”

“Why not?” his brother replied, unbothered.

“What if we are not allowed to?” Elurín worried at his bottom lip as Eluréd tried to lift one of the smaller discs. 

“There is no law against it,” the Noldo in the chair said. Elurín nearly jumped out of his skin; the Elf had turned in his seat to look at them. “Well met! Did you wish to participate in throwing?”

Eluréd quickly released the disc in his hands and shifted closer to Elurín. “No. We were only looking.”

The Noldo smiled. His dark hair was tied in a large, thick braid, and his eyes startled Elurín, for they were a deep shade of golden-brown.

“Are you not joining them?” Eluréd asked, pointing to the Noldor who were preparing for their turn to throw.

“I have already taken my turn,” the Noldo replied. “My brother will return for me soon enough. He insists I have not done enough, but I assure you, my arms and shoulders ache like mad.”

“Brother?” Elurín repeated.

“Over there.” The Noldo pointed out one of the participants, an Elf with long, dark hair that was tied back with gold ribbons. A jolt went through Elurín’s stomach at the sight. “My second is off racing, and my sister is around here, somewhere.” The Noldo glanced around the field, but soon gave up with a shrug. “Ah well. Perhaps she is at the wrestling ring with our cousins.”

Elurín looked at the Noldo anew, as though a veil had been lifted from his face. “Y-you are,” he stammered, but could not speak the name.

The Noldo turned to him questioningly. Then he gave a soft laugh. “Oh, forgive me for not introducing myself sooner! I am Arakáno.”

Elurín stared at him, one whom he had never seen before but heard of in history lessons. Astorren had spoken of how Argon, youngest child of Fingolfin, broke through the enemies’ ranks during the Battle of Lammoth and slew the Orc captain all by himself. He had turned the tide of the battle for Fingolfin’s warriors, but at the cost of his own life.

He was here, now, sitting before them in the flesh, sitting and breathing and very much alive. Elurín could hardly think of something to say.

Arakáno glanced between them, waiting. “May I know your names?” he prompted when they said nothing, for Eluréd was also speechless.

Elurín shook himself from his thoughts and quickly grasped at something to say. “I, er – I am Lindelen.” His small voice shook ever so slightly. It was usually Eluréd who introduced them. “And this is my brother, Hrávelen.”

Arakáno inclined his head to them. "A fine day it is that two stars shine upon our meeting."

Elurín's face grew warm.

"Are you here with your family?" Arakáno asked.

“Er, we rode here from Formenos,” Eluréd offered.

Arakáno’s brow furrowed, eyes tracing their white hair. However his kindly expression did not change. “Indeed? You are here for the festival, then?”

“Just today, for a little while,” Elurín mumbled, unsure of what else to say. 

Arakáno smiled, then glanced out at the field. His eyes widened. “Oh, here comes my brother, ready to drag me out for another turn!”

Elurín looked around in time to see one of the dark-haired Elf approach them, dressed only in breeches with a blue sash tied around his waist. 

“Well now, little brother,” he said, grinning, hands on hips. “Keeping busy to avoid the exercise, I see.”

Arakáno scoffed. “I am hardly little when I am taller than you. Here, have a break and meet these young stars.”

The newcomer’s eyes fell on them, and his face lit up with delight. “Stars indeed!” He dropped to a crouch before Elurín and Eluréd with a hand upon his breast in greeting. “I am Findekáno, very glad to meet you. I trust my brother has not been too bothersome?”

Elurín and Eluréd shook their heads, too startled to say anything. Elurín spotted a little braid in Findekáno’s hair, tucked into his ponytail. It was woven with a small, gold ribbon.

Fingon, dearest cousin of Maedhros, valiant and strong, and doomed to fall before the fire-robed Balrogs. Elurín’s eyes stung, and he hastily lowered his gaze to the ground.

He heard Findekáno chuckle. “There now, no need to be shy, young star.”

“Go back to throwing,” Arakáno said in mock-rebuttal. “You are making them uneasy.”

“How can that be? I am just as friendly as you! Ah, but alright, I shall go.” Findekáno sighed mournfully and made to stand, dodging a playful shove from his brother.

A sudden feeling overcame Elurín, as though he were pushed forward. “No, do not go!” he cried, and reaching out he touched Findekáno’s shoulder.

Surprise flitted across Findekáno’s face, but was soon overtaken by a triumphant grin. “There, brother, you see? It is my duty also to converse with Atar’s subjects. And it is your turn to throw now!”

Arakáno rolled his eyes as he stood and took a disc, but his face was full of mirth.

Findekáno watched as his brother took his place to throw. When he turned back to the twins, Elurín blushed furiously and snatched his hand away from Findekáno’s shoulder. What was he _thinking?_ “I – I am sorry,” he blurted. “I did not mean to – I mean –”

“It is quite alright!” Findekáno said reassuringly, though his gaze upon them was curious and searching. “Now then, young stars,” he continued. “There are many events taking place, and you are free to go wherever you wish.”

“Th-thank you, my lord,” Eluréd stammered. “We are most grateful.”

Findekáno laughed, and it was a wondrous, rolling sound. Elurín smiled tentatively, still digesting the fact that he was speaking with a legend.

“If you wish to participate in the activities here,” Findekáno continued, “I would advise you to tie back your hair. I am sure none of us would wish yours to get tangled! I do have some extra ribbons should you need them.”

“That is very gracious of you, my lord,” Eluréd said. “We are only watching for now, but even then, I think the ribbons would suit you better.”

Findekáno’s eyes gleamed with warmth. “Ah, dear star, you are too kind. In truth, I doubt that any ornament could compliment such fine locks as yours.”

It was Eluréd’s turn to blush deep. Perhaps Findekáno spoke to them only because of his duty as a prince’s son, but Elurín was glad that he had stayed. Findekáno’s smile was infectious, and hearing his boisterous laugh made Elurín want to join in. As it was, he felt his courage rising, forming words upon his tongue.

“My lord, I do agree with my brother,” he offered. “With the gold in your hair, it is as though Laurelin herself crowns you with her light. A bright beacon for all to gather around.”

Findekáno appeared pleasantly surprised, not to mention rather flattered. “Now, that is more than all the words of my siblings combined!”

Eluréd tilted his head in question at Elurín, but Elurín could not say what had inspired his choice of compliment, at least not aloud while Findekáno was there. Memories of Maedhros’ stories sifted through his mind, a few of them being of his dear friend Fingon and their time together in Valinor. Maedhros had not spoken much of Fingon, but what he did say was enough to convey the depth of their friendship. Gazing at Findekáno now, Elurín felt a rush of simple love for him.

What he felt for Fingon of the future was rather more complicated. The part he took in the First Kinslaying, and saving Maedhros by severing his hand … It was hard to sort out, even amidst Fingon’s heroic deeds. But here, in this time, Elurín felt that he could love Findekáno as he was.

If only it was so simple in the future … A pang of regret went through Elurín, worsening when he remembered that he would never be able to speak to Findekáno, _Fingon,_ in the future, for he would die before Elurín and Eluréd were born. All the things that Elurín wanted to say, to ask him, must remain locked in his heart.

“Now then,” Findekáno said, “I must return to my throwing, or Arakáno will badger me. Farewell, young stars! I hope to see you again soon.”

“We hope so too,” Eluréd said, and Findekáno hurried off to where his brother and the others stood. He glanced over his shoulder at the twins and smiled, and Elurín waved.

For a moment, they both stood there as the sounds of sporting and laughter surrounded them. Elurín wondered if this was truly a dream, a deep and powerful dream. In just a short moment they had spoken to both Fingon and Argon! And they were still here, close enough for Elurín to reach out and touch!

“Where should we go next?” Eluréd whispered.

Where indeed?

The wrestling ring was completely blocked by a large crowd of spectators, yet somehow Elurín and Eluréd managed to slip through to the front. Elurín remembered what Arakáno had said about his sister being here. His heart hammered at the thought of seeing more of Maedhros’ cousins. What other surprises would befall him and Eluréd today?

Elurín gripped the rope that encircled the ring to steady himself. Then he looked up just as an Elf was thrown to the ground under his opponent. His opponent held him there for three seconds even as he tried to escape, yet his attempts were futile, and when the referee whistled, his opponent leaped up with arms triumphantly raised, basking in the cheers and shouts of the spectators.

It was a lithe Elf lady, Elurín realized. A tall one, dressed in a simple tunic and breeches. Her pale gold hair was tied up behind her head, and her eyes flashed blue and bright.

“Who else, now?” she shouted to the crowds. “Who else dares to face me?”

“I do!” someone replied, and another Elf lady leaped over the rope into the ring. This one was dark-haired, and her sporting clothes were all white. “I beat your golden brothers at the javelins, Artanis. I plan to beat you next!”

Eluréd gripped Elurín’s hand in his realization. Elurín could hardly believe it himself.

Artanis tossed her head back with an amused laugh. “Hah! If only I was there to see Angaráto’s face!” She dropped into a stance, eyeing the dark-haired lady with a smirk. “Just be warned that I took down five opponents before this.”

“Good!” the dark-haired lady replied, moving on nimble feet. “You have tired yourself while I still have much strength!”

And with that, they were at each other, grappling and pushing and twisting. Elurín had the feeling it was going to take a while before a champion arose from this match. He did not mind it much, as he was too busy remembering the tales of Artanis, daughter of Finarfin, and írissë, daughter of Fingolfin, that Astorren had mentioned during history lessons. Elurín knew them better as Galadriel, the name given to Artanis by her lover in Doriath, Celeborn; and Aredhel Ar-Feiniel, the White Lady of Gondolin. They were before him now, trying to defeat each other in a wrestling match for fun, though this time Elurín and Eluréd could not go up and speak to them.

Had he seen Galadriel in Doriath before? Elurín could not remember. Perhaps she had been elsewhere, dealing with the troubles of her cousins or maybe living quietly with Celeborn. From what Elurín heard of her, though, it seemed more likely that Galadriel would lead an active life, contesting against her cousins and doing what she could to aid those who still fought against Morgoth.

And as for Aredhel … Elurín could hardly bear to think of it. Bright Aredhel, taken by a poisoned spear, leaving behind a son who would lead to the downfall of Gondolin.

He and Eluréd eventually left the wrestling ring, and Eluréd took the lead as he searched for the javelins. Elurín looked around anxiously, wondering who else they would see from the legendary House of Finwë. Would it be someone who was doomed to perish in a terrible way? Or someone who would live until the twins’ time? 

“Look, Elurín, there they are!” Eluréd said excitedly, pointing.

Before them was an area set up very much like that of the disc-throwing. Instead of discs, the Elves held javelins; a nearby rack displayed a variety of javelins with differing lengths and sizes. Elurín’s gaze was drawn to an Elf who hefted his javelin and took aim. His hair was golden, wild even when tied back. Elurín did not see any other golden-haired Elves among the throng of participants; perhaps they had left to try their skills at other sports.

The golden-haired Elf threw his javelin, and it hit the target dead-centre. There was clapping all around, though the Elf exchanged playful jests with the others. His handsome, bronzed face was beaming, carefree and alive.

As a great wave, it all gathered and came flooding through him, the sheer certainty that many of these Elves would perish in the years to come. Elurín’s shoulders shook, and he barely managed to stifle a sob.

“Elurín?” Eluréd said, resting a hand on his shoulder. “What is it?”

“They will all be gone,” Elurín whispered.

Eluréd’s gaze cleared with understanding, and the anguish on his face mirrored Elurín’s own. “Come on,” his brother said firmly. “Let us go back to Mastaro. I feel that we have lingered longer than we ought.”

Elurín nodded, glad to move away from the golden-haired Elf, even though part of him wanted to stay and talk to him. Suddenly the words that he had exchanged with Findekáno and Arakáno returned as a knife, twisting in his heart, and it took all of his willpower not to cry. Would he ever see them again in this time? Would there ever be another opportunity? Elurín did not know.

He took Eluréd’s hand, holding tightly, and together they made their way back to where Mastaro and Laiquehepar sat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow look at Celegorm being such a Nice Guy lol  
> Also, I thought it'd be nice to get the twins out of the house XD Plus we got quite a few drawings this chapter! Keep in mind that these clothing designs are really for Beleriand (since Fingon's wearing his High King crown lol). 
> 
> Also, the golden-haired Elf at the end is Aegnor XDD I gave him wild hair lol
> 
> I hope you're all enjoying the story so far! Your comments and kudos are greatly appreciated <3


	10. Of Father and Son

“Brother!” Ambarto cried, hurrying toward Maitimo with Ambarussa hot on his heels.

Maitimo halted in his steps down the hall, bewildered as the twins skidded to a stop before him. “What has happened now?”

“Maitimo! Why did you not tell us there are more twins in this household?”

Maitimo blinked. “What – Where did you hear of this?”

Both Ambarussat huffed impatiently at him. “Tyelko made mention of it! Come now, Maitimo, tell us!”

“Well …” Maitimo sighed. Of course they got the news from Tyelkormo. And of course they would be curious. Twins were very rare among the Elves; so far the Ambarussat were the only twins in Valinor.

It would not hurt to explain, he decided, especially now that Fëanáro knew the children were living with Mastaro’s family. “I do not know where they are at the moment,” he added at the end. Mastaro was in Tirion at the moment; perhaps the children were taking care of their chores.

“What are they like?” Ambarussa asked eagerly.

“You can see them for yourself, Minyarussa.”

“Please, Maitimo!” Ambarto said. “We want to know more before we see them, so we know what to expect.”

Maitimo sighed with amusement. “Very well, then. They are …” How was he to describe them?

“Their names first,” Ambarussa prompted.

“They are Hrávelen and Lindelen,” Maitimo said, glad for the opening. “Their Epessi,” he clarified, “for they call each other by nicknames, or so they told me.”

Ambarussa repeated the names under his breath. Then he grinned. “It should be easy to tell them apart, then!”

“If you do not startle them into silence first,” Maitimo replied. His youngest brothers meant well, but sometimes they were too forward in their curiosity. And considering how subdued the children were …

All in all, if the Ambarussat intended to see them, Maitimo resolved to be there to keep watch.

“We will not startle them!” Ambarto exclaimed with a look of mock-hurt. 

“I will give them only the best of hospitality,” young Ambarussa said with a playful, sweeping bow.

“Is that so?” Maitimo shot out his hand and he ruffled Ambarussa’s unruly waves of hair.

“A!” his youngest brother cried, but Maitimo was already making his escape, chuckling to himself.

It was an hour before the evening meal when Mastaro’s party arrived at the front doors. Maitimo went out to meet him, given that it was along the way. Mastaro grinned and bowed upon seeing Maitimo there, and Maitimo clasped the cook’s arm in greeting.

Then he glanced behind Mastaro and saw the children, standing out like marble pillars in a green field. They stepped into the entrance hall amidst Mastaro’s assistants, windblown and weary from the journey, looking ready for a good rest.

They spotted him then, and every inch of exhaustion was erased from their faces.

“Maitimo!” The children hurried forward, not exactly _beaming_ per se, but evidently quite happy to see him.

“Hello, boys,” Maitimo replied, kneeling so that they could meet his eyes. “Did you have a good journey?”

“Yes!” Hrávelen said eagerly. “We went to the markets in Tirion, and the sporting grounds! There were many Elves taking part.”

“Indeed?” Maitimo remembered those grounds. He and his brothers had participated in the sporting events throughout their youth. Formenos had similar grounds – large areas of green, and even parts of a nearby forest to allow for hunting game. But theirs did not have the same vibrant energy as the events in Tirion.

“We even spoke to some of the Elves there,” Lindelen said. He was quieter than his brother, but the tremor in his voice betrayed his excitement.

“It sounds like you had a very enjoyable time,” Maitimo said, smiling.

Lindelen shifted closer, lowering his voice as though imparting a great secret. “We spoke to Lord Arakáno,” he said, pale eyes gleaming. “And – Lord Findekáno. You know of them, yes?”

Maitimo swallowed, though he kept his smile in place. “I do. They are my cousins.”

Lindelen face softened. “They were very kind.”

“And very funny, too,” Hrávelen added.

Maitimo chuckled, though his heart ached. “I am glad to hear it. You can tell me more after you have cleaned up, if you wish.”

The children nodded. “Actually,” Hrávelen began.

At that moment, quick footsteps echoed down the hall, and Maitimo turned to see one of Fëanáro’s personal servants. “My lord,” the latter said, bowing. “Your father wishes to speak with you.”

Maitimo’s brow furrowed. What did Fëanáro require now?

He murmured a farewell to Mastaro and the children and set off for his father’s study, taking a total of three deep breaths along the way.

“Nelyafinwë,” Fëanáro said. Maitimo opted to remain standing. His father did so as well, facing him from across the table. “Mastaro just returned from Tirion, yes?”

“That is so, Atar.”

“I hear the two children you took in went with him.”

Maitimo’s heartbeat quickened. “Yes.”

“It is about them that I wish to discuss with you,” Fëanáro said. “It seems that they have already become a nuisance during their stay.”

To anybody else, Fëanáro would sound unconcerned, conversational even. Maitimo was not blind to the blazing light in his father’s eyes, nor deaf to the coldness that lined his words.

“What makes you say that?” he asked, keeping his tone level.

“You think I do not know that they follow you around everywhere?” Fëanáro asked, eyes boring into Maitimo’s. “How blatantly they disregard the propriety that must be shown before my sons? Even Turcafinwë spoke to me of their disrespectful behaviour towards him.”

“Atar –”

“And it is not just that.” Fëanáro leaned forward slightly, leaning one palm on the table. “You are growing distracted. You let them follow you, talk to you, take up whatever free time you have.”

“They are not with me all the time,” Maitimo pointed out.

“They are with you enough that it is _concerning._ I told you that I do not want them underfoot.”

“The children are no distraction to me, Atar. They are only attached to me because I offered them aid.” At least, Maitimo thought that was why … 

As though sharing his thoughts, Fëanáro said, “I doubt that is the only reason.”

Maitimo swallowed. “Why?”

His father straightened, sized him up. “My eldest son. You are one of my most trusted, knowing nearly all of Formenos’ secrets. I simply cannot help but wonder …”

Disbelief twisted in Maitimo’s gut. “Atar, you did not think they were spies back then!”

“That was _before_ I learned more of them,” Fëanáro said, scowling.

 _Through who? Tyelkormo? Your spies?_ Maitimo said none of this, though the words bubbled in his throat.

“Atar,” he said instead, “they are innocent children, and they are hardly underfoot to me. I enjoy their company, in fact. But I will speak to them of these – concerns, if it will ease your mind.”

Fëanáro’s eyes narrowed as he slowly prowled around the table. “It will ease me better if you send them from this household.”

Maitimo went still. “They do not want to leave.”

The words were out before he could stop them. Part of him recoiled, horrified at this sudden show of defiance, but it was too late to take them back.

“No matter what you say, Nelyafinwë, they are still only a distraction to you,” Fëanáro said. “I have seen how distant you have grown around us recently.”

 _And is that only because of the children?_ Maitimo cried in his mind. _Or is it from all that you have done to this family?_

Guilt stabbed him without hesitation. These were treasonous thoughts, unfair to the father who had done what he did in all their best interests. _It was all for us,_ Maitimo repeated, though a small part of him knew he was only trying to convince himself. Nor was he succeeding, even after all these years.

“Forgive me, Atar. I think only of our safety, and that of Formenos. As for the children,” he lied, “they are far from my mind.”

Fëanáro’s eyes gleamed with a cold light. “Is that so?”

Maitimo held his ground, though in his mind, questions flitted back and forth. Why was he defending them? Would he truly risk his relationship with his father for two strangers? He could not afford to do that, not at a time like this. Nor was there any harm in sending the children to another household.

And yet … And yet … 

The strange, yet now familiar, tug reappeared in his mind. It was soft, gently insistent, not strong by any means, but Maitimo made no effort to pull away from it. Nor did he know why.

“Please,” Maitimo said, as earnest as he could, “pardon them, Atar. They are only children. I will take responsibility for them.”

Fëanáro regarded him without expression. A drop of sweat trickled down the back of Maitimo’s neck.

“If this is your decision, Nelyafinwë,” he eventually said, “then you will have to find out the truth concerning them.”

“The truth …?” Maitimo repeated, caught off-balance.

“If they are to stay in _my_ household for any longer, I will need more than that pathetic excuse they gave me.” Fëanáro’s voice cracked like a whip throughout the room. “Since you are so eager to care for them, you shall take on this duty. Report to me on what you gather, and if I find anything questionable about it, they will leave. Do you understand?”

Maitimo opened his mouth, whether to protest or agree or ask for another option, he did not know. But what came out was, “Yes, Atar.”

“Go then,” Fëanáro said. “There is not much time left before the festival, and I expect to have information before I go.”

Maitimo bowed stiffly, turned, and left the study at a brisk pace. He could still feel his father’s gaze burning into his back even after the doors were shut.

Mastaro hurried out to meet him as he approached the kitchens. “My lord! I – Are you well?”

“What? Yes, yes,” Maitimo said distractedly. A string of familiar voices reached his ears, and he glanced inside the kitchens to see –

A pair of white with a pair of red.

“... We heard of you earlier and wished to meet you,” Ambarto was saying. “I am Pityafinwë –”

“And I am Telufinwë!” Ambarussa said, resting a hand over his heart and inclining his head to the children. “Our brother tells us that you are Hrávelen and Lindelen?”

The children neither moved nor said anything, still openly staring at the Ambarussat. Whether the Ambarussat noticed this or not, they gave no indication of it, which Maitimo was glad for.

“My lord?” Mastaro said, drawing Maitimo’s attention away from both twins. The head cook’s face was filled with concern.

“At ease,” Maitimo said. “I only came to check up on you.”

Mastaro inclined his head. “You are too generous, my lord.” 

In an effort to turn the subject away from him, and to distract himself of his new duty, Maitimo asked, “When did my brothers get here?”

“Just a little while before you did,” Mastaro replied. 

They both looked back into the kitchens, watching the twins interact with each other. Maitimo focused on the children, and frowned. Something was odd about them – their faces pale, their eyes wide, and Lindelen’s lip trembling as though he might begin to cry. But why?

“Which one of you is which? No, wait, let me guess.” Ambarussa tapped his chin, then held out his hand to one of the children. “You are the one Maitimo calls Hrávelen. And you …” He turned to the child who partly hid behind his brother. “You are Lindelen. Am I correct?”

Slowly, very slowly, the children nodded. Hrávelen’s eyes shone as he gazed at Ambarussa, and Maitimo’s brow furrowed. It was much the same reaction the children had when they first met _him._ And now with the Ambarussat … What did it mean?

“Give them some room, brother,” Maitimo said, stepping forward into the kitchens. He kept his tone light, yet he did not take his eyes off of the children. “They have only just returned from their journey.”

The children appeared to rise out of their reverie at the sound of Maitimo’s voice. They brightened, both in face and gaze, and it could have been Maitimo’s imagination, but their silver-white hair seemed to glimmer more brightly in the waning light of Laurelin.

“We are, er, very honoured to meet you, my lords,” Hrávelen said with a little bow to the Ambarussat. Lindelen followed his brother’s example.

“If we had known earlier that you were here, we would have come to meet you sooner!” Ambarussa threw Maitimo a disgruntled look.

“How did you hear of us?” Hrávelen asked.

“From Tyelkormo,” Ambarto replied. “You met him, yes?”

The children’s faces fell.

“I heard it was not a savoury meeting,” Ambarto said hastily, no doubt to ease them. “But do not worry. We are much friendlier than he.”

Lindelen offered a timid smile. “You look like Lord Telufinwë,” he said, so quiet that Maitimo nearly missed his words.

“Indeed,” Ambarto said with a light laugh. “He is my twin, after all.”

“Your hair is darker.”

“So it is. I see your hair shines just like your brother’s.”

A faint flush suffused Lindelen’s cheeks. “Your freckles are very bright.”

“Are they?” Ambarto looked pleased, but it was short-lived, for Ambarussa swooped in.

“Surely if yours are bright, then so are mine,” he teased. Ambarto lightly pushed his twin’s shoulder in retaliation.

Maitimo watched the children carefully. Lindelen raised his hand as though to touch Ambarto’s face, but hesitated, and his hand dropped to his side. Ambarto tilted his head in question. “Are you alright?”

Hrávelen stepped forward, shielding his brother. “I am sorry,” he said. “It is just a – a surprise to see you.”

“Not a bad one, I hope,” Ambarto said kindly.

Hrávelen shook his head. “No. Not a bad one.”

Lindelen tugged on Hrávelen’s arm and whispered something. Hrávelen’s eyes lit up with realization, and he turned to Maitimo, bringing out a palm-sized object from his pocket. Lindelen watched the proceedings, though his gaze often flickered back to the Ambarussat.

“This is for you, Maitimo,” Hrávelen said in a small voice.

Maitimo raised his eyebrows in surprise. A gift? Kneeling, he held out his hand and Hrávelen dropped the object into his palm.

It was a pastry wrapped in brown packaging. Maitimo recognized the stamp upon the package – one of the finest bakeries in Tirion.

“Thank you,” he said, startled that the children would give him anything.

“They were selling blueberry pies in the market,” Hrávelen explained. “We thought we would get one for you. To thank you for – for helping us.”

So it was in return for his hospitality. Maitimo smiled, a little embarrassed himself, but nevertheless grateful. For a moment, his confrontation with Fëanáro felt like a bad dream.

“You like blueberries, right?” Lindelen asked.

Indeed he did. In fact, blueberries were one of his favourite fruits. In his youth he ate them by the handful, and Nerdanel would scold him afterward while rubbing his aching stomach. These days he took them with his morning meals, enjoying their sweet taste.

“You are correct,” he said, warmth spreading through his chest. “But how did you know?”

Lindelen blinked, and Hrávelen shuffled on his feet. “A lucky guess,” the latter said.

Maitimo was not convinced by the child’s tone, but decided not to push it. He stood, pocketing the pastry. “I am sure I will enjoy it. Now, I must go, and I believe you have other chores to complete, yes?”

The children looked downcast, glancing at the Ambarussat with some hesitancy. Ambarto noticed and said, “No worries, little ones. You will see us again! We live in the same house, after all.”

Maitimo did not miss the lingering gazes that the children gave to the Ambarussat as they went off. Once they were gone, he turned to the Ambarussat to see them looking fondly after the children.

“Well?” he said, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Are you sure you named Hrávelen suitably?” Ambarussa immediately asked. “He was hardly wild!”

Maitimo rolled his eyes, but his smile broadened. Dealing with his brothers helped to take his mind off of certain things sometimes.

“Let me see that pastry, brother,” Ambarto said suddenly, lunging for the package in Maitimo’s hands.

“Why, so you can eat it behind my back? I think not!” Maitimo turned on his heel to leave the entrance hall. He heard his brothers follow, their footsteps falling into rhythm with his own.

“Will you not share with your little brothers? For shame, Maitimo!”

“Ah, but it was a gift for him,” Ambarussa said. “They like you very much, brother!”

Maitimo was not blind to that. Yes, the children were quite attached to him. But why? Was it because he helped them before? Once again, the odd feeling that he felt around them rose to the surface, and he winced.

“They were very surprised to see you,” he said, keeping his tone light.

“Well, we were just as surprised to hear of another set of twins!” Ambarto grinned. “And we are also lords. Hmm, perhaps you are right, Maitimo – we startled them into silence, did we not?”

Ambarussa also smiled, but Maitimo saw that it was not so genuine. A shadow of thought rested upon his youngest brother’s brow. Was he also thinking of the children and their odd reaction?

When Ambarto declared that he would depart for the stables, Ambarussa opted to remain behind. “I will catch up with you,” he promised, and his brother went off.

Maitimo arched an eyebrow. The twins were rarely to be seen without each other. Ambarussa turned to face him, his gaze distant, but when he spoke it was without hesitation.

“Those children,” he began, “where did they come from?”

“I do not know for certain,” Maitimo admitted. “But I suspect they may hail from Alqualondë.”

“And yet you allowed them to stay?”

“I could not turn them out.” Nor did he think he could ever.

“I heard earlier from the cooks that you planned to, yet Mastaro volunteered to take them.”

Maitimo gave a half-smile. “The threads of Doom weave in interesting ways.”

“Indeed,” Ambarussa said, gazing out a nearby window of the corridor. The Mingling of the Lights was nearing its end. “I am glad that you did not turn them out.”

Maitimo said nothing, but his brother’s words reassured him. No matter the reason why he always felt strange around the children, no matter Fëanáro’s insistence that they leave, there was a certainty within Maitimo that letting the children stay in his father’s house was the right decision.

But what would it lead to in the days to come?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're now ten chapters in! Thanks guys for reading this far! Your comments and kudos mean a lot <333
> 
> And on that note ...  
> Yaay Amrod and Amras are here!  
> If you've read my other fics, you'd know that Amrod died at Losgar while Amras remains in Amon Ereb. Therefore the twins are very familiar with Amras :')
> 
> Minyarussa is Amras' Epesse, meaning "First-russa." Likewise, Atyarussa is Amrod's Epesse, meaning "Second-russa." I'll admit to being a little confused since Amrod is given as the sixth son of Feanor while Amras is the seventh (on Tolkien Gateway, at least lol).  
> Eh well, they're After-names, so i guess it doesn't really matter whether one is older or younger XDD
> 
> But ohh my gawshh there's so many names to keep track of! XDD


	11. The Power of Music

Early the next morning, Maitimo sent out scouts to Alqualondë. If all went well, they would blend in with the crowds and learn what they could of any Elves bearing the children’s descriptions. To Tirion he sent a few messengers, specifically to Nolofinwë’s house.

 _Findekáno,_ he thought, watching as the messengers rode off toward the city, _you always helped me when I was in need._ Those moments were so long ago. Never had Maitimo thought that he would require his cousin’s aid in banishment. Was it too much to hope that Findekáno did not hate him utterly by now, even though he had every right and reason to?

Maitimo sighed. There was still much to do while he waited for the replies. Perhaps searching in Tirion was unnecessary, but it would make the children seem less suspicious in Fëanáro’s eyes if they had little dealings in that city – especially with the House of Nolofinwë and Arafinwë.

Halfway through the morning, the children appeared to him. He had half a mind to tell them that they could not follow him anymore, but he found himself hesitating.

“Maitimo,” Hrávelen said eagerly. “How was the blueberry pie?”

Maitimo opened his mouth to answer, but at that moment the Ambarussat swooped in, apparently out of nowhere.

“You should have seen Maitimo at the evening meal yesterday,” Ambarto exclaimed, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. “He devoured the pie in one bite!”

The children appeared startled for a heartbeat, but soon relaxed. “Really?” Lindelen asked.

Maitimo managed a chuckle. “Indeed it was delicious. You have my thanks.”

The children beamed with delight. “If we ever visit the markets here,” Hrávelen said, “we will find you another!”

“You do not have to,” Maitimo protested. There was no use in turning them away now, not while the Ambarussat were here. But if he could at least dissuade them from showing him such attention … 

Hrávelen’s smile faltered. Maitimo’s heart twisted at the sight.

“Do not worry, young ones,” Ambarto said, casting a wink in Maitimo’s direction. “If he will not take your gifts, then we will!”

Lindelen turned to Ambarto. “I will keep an eye out for raspberry pies next time, just for you.”

Ambarto raised his eyebrows. “Raspberry?”

Lindelen nodded, then blinked and gasped softly. “Oh! Forgive me, I did not mean to presume –” 

“Were you referring to _me?_ ” Ambarussa asked. “Raspberry is _my_ favourite. Strawberries are my brother’s.”

“Oh – forgive me, my lord!” Lindelen said quickly. “I meant for _you,_ not Lord Pityafinwë.”

“No worries! It is easy to mix me and my brother around.” Ambarussa smiled reassuringly, though his gaze upon the child remained curious.

It was good to see the children opening up, Maitimo thought with a smile. They spoke more openly now, and no longer hesitated in replying to queries or conversation. It was a good sign that they were settling in well.

Now, if only they would go with his brothers …

A sliver of guilt lodged in his chest at the thought, and it was not just because of his father. The children were not too much of a bother, but he had his duties to attend to, and, truth be told, their stalwart presence was growing into _something._ Not quite a distraction, but getting there. Maitimo had much experience from dealing with his young brothers, not to mention a deep well of patience, but in these times he needed to focus.

Fëanáro’s words echoed in his mind, but he refused to give his father the satisfaction of being right, even in mind.

He caught Ambarto’s eye for a split second, and understanding flashed across his younger brother’s face. Nobody else appeared to notice.

“Say now,” Ambarto said. “Ambarussa and I plan to go riding soon. Would you like to join us?”

The children’s faces shuttered immediately. Was it Maitimo’s imagination, or did they shift closer to him, away from the Ambarussat? Hrávelen glanced up at Maitimo with uncertainty.

“What is it?” Ambarto asked. “Do you not like riding?”

“Perhaps they have never ridden before,” Ambarussa mused.

“We know how to ride horses,” Hrávelen said. “We just, er, have not finished … learning.”

“We cannot go on our own,” Lindelen added.

“Ah, we can help with that!” Ambarto said. “We will be with you for the entire trip. What say you?”

Despite the Ambarussat’s attempts, Hrávelen and Lindelen did not depart from Maitimo’s side as he made his way from one meeting to the next, dealing with administration and the fortress’ wellbeing. Maitimo pushed them to the back of his mind each time, and resurfaced from his duties to find the children waiting for him.

“Do you not have your own work to attend to?” he eventually asked. Even the Ambarussat had departed a while ago. “Did Mastaro assign you any chores?”

“We finished them,” Hrávelen piped. “While you were busy.”

“And then we hurried back to meet you,” Lindelen added.

Did they do this for all the times that they walked with him? Hurry off to finish their chores while he finished his own?

It was clear the children were comfortable with their routine. Mastaro had spoken of their hard work, and Maitimo was glad that the children did their best to help. He did not want to disrupt that by making them think they were unwelcome around him.

And yet he wondered.

Perhaps … If he asked, they might answer. They trusted him enough to follow him around, did they not? 

“Boys,” he said, as gently as he could, “why do you follow me?”

The children stared up at him. Hrávelen made to respond, but hesitated and said nothing. Lindelen remained silent, avoiding Maitimo’s gaze.

Then Hrávelen said, with a slight tremble, “Do you want us to go?”

“You did not answer my question.”

The children remained silent, casting anxious glances around the corridor. Unfortunately, Maitimo had no time to wait them out, though part of him wished to try.

A sliver of disappointment trickled through him. He would have to wait for his men’s reports on the matter.

A strain of music reached his ears. He immediately recognized the lilting notes plucked from harp strings, flowing down the corridor like a bubbling stream. Surprise bubbled in his stomach; were they really so close to the music room? He had not realized it.

The children peered around, searching for the source of the music. Well, Maitimo thought, here was a chance to move them from his side.

“Over here,” he murmured, leading them to the music room just a few paces away. The doors were cracked open; as they came near, a flurrying melody washed over Maitimo, and he saw a bright vision in his mind’s eye – Laurelin’s light scintillating over the rippling surface of water; the fluttering feathers of a robin readying for flight; and the lush green of the trees outside Formenos, branches rustling in the wind, soft as a breath. Maitimo sighed in content, then opened the door and stepped into the doorway.

Makalaurë sat at the great harp near the long, glass window. His nimble fingers danced along the strings, drawing out a melody that only four people could manage. He stood straight and tall, pale face serene and curtained by raven hair. The images of Trees-lit nature did not depart fully from Maitimo’s mind until Makalaurë brought his flourishing song to an end.

“Beautiful as always, brother,” Maitimo complimented him.

Makalaurë smiled slightly. “It is not yet perfected. A few more tweaks, and it shall be done.”

Maitimo knew better than to argue with his brother on the subject of perfection. Makalaurë spared a glance at Maitimo as he shuffled through his music notes, yet instead of looking back to his harp, Makalaurë’s gaze settled on the children. Surprise sparked in his blue eyes. “Oh? Who are these little ones?”

Maitimo introduced the children, noting how they stared at Makalaurë with a look akin to awe, but mingled with something more. “And this is my brother,” he said, “Kanafinwë, second son of Fëanáro.”

The children were silent at first. Then, with the air of stepping before a large audience for the first time, Hrávelen said, “You play beautifully.”

Makalaurë inclined his head, evidently pleased. His fingers plucked at the harp strings with elegance, and another melody tumbled through the room. Maitimo’s mind was filled with the sight of glistening snow upon the peaks of the Pelóri mountains, glittering like a multitude of crystals in golden and silver light.

The tune ceased after a few heartbeats. Maitimo shook his head to clear it, fixing his brother with a look. “I would better appreciate the visions after the evening meal, when I have more time to contemplate them.”

Makalaurë laughed, and the sound was as bright and lilting as his music. “Sometimes I forget my strength. It was meant for the little ones. They made me think of the Pelóri, snow and all.”

“We have never been compared to mountains before,” Lindelen said suddenly, but still in his soft voice. “We are always called stars.”

Makalaurë arched a dark brow. 

“Was there snow upon the mountains?” Hrávelen asked his brother. “I am sorry, my lord,” he added to Makalaurë, “but I had my eyes closed for the most part.”

 _“Eyes closed?"_ Makalaurë repeated, staring at them with incredulity. Maitimo likewise gazed at the children anew; their eyes were clear, as though his brother’s music had not affected them. _But how …?_

“Did you resist my music?” Makalaurë demanded, brow furrowed.

“I – I meant no disrespect,” Hrávelen said hastily.

“None of that now,” Makalaurë said with an impatient wave of his hand. “No one has ever resisted my music before. And you had your _eyes closed?_ ”

The children shuffled on their feet, looking uncomfortable. Maitimo was too surprised to speak on their behalf. Makalaurë spoke truly, for his power in music was potent, unmatched by any except, perhaps, Findaráto. All Elves had some might in the art of song – Maitimo thought fondly of Findekáno – but he had yet to see anybody rise to Makalaurë’s level and overcome him.

And these children claimed to be resistant?

Makalaurë eyed the children for a moment longer, then beckoned them to come forward. Hrávelen and Lindelen glanced at Maitimo, either for permission or strength, or even both, yet they approached Makalaurë with only a little wariness. Makalaurë’s eyes flitted over their faces, intense and searching.

“Do you have skill in music-making?” he asked after a moment.

Both children nodded, and Maitimo felt a mingling of surprise and curiosity. Perhaps he would learn a little more of them here.

“Tell me of it,” Makalaurë said. His tone was not forceful, but even its most relaxed state could hold the strength of a command.

“We can sing,” Hrávelen explained. “I usually take the melody while Lindelen harmonizes. Sometimes we switch places.”

“Hmm.” Makalaurë traced his lip with a pale finger, eyeing them in thought. “And who taught you to keep your eyes closed to visions?”

Maitimo could not see the children’s faces, for their backs were turned to him, yet he could sense their slight discomfort. “It is a secret,” Hrávelen said. “They do not want to be known.”

“But they play as lovely as you,” Lindelen offered.

“Indeed? Let me guess. A Maia?” When this was met with silence, Makalaurë tried again. “A Vala? Oh, come now, my little snow-capped mountains. I must know who my new rival is!”

Maitimo tried and failed to hide a grin.

“A! Brother, I see that smirk on your face! Are you mocking me now?”

Maitimo tipped his head back and laughed. “Ah, dear Makalaurë, if it was a Maia or a Vala, then you can hardly be a rival to them. Let it alone for now.”

Makalaurë huffed, looking thoroughly put out. Then he focused again on the children. “Well, you two are here now. How long shall you stay in Atar’s house?”

The children exchanged glances. “We, er,” Lindelen began.

“We are staying with Mastaro,” Hrávelen supplied.

That seemed good enough for Makalaurë, though Maitimo could not help but dwell on that thought. How long did the children plan to stay for? Until they came of age? Until they left of their own accord?

“I assume whoever taught you to close your eyes to visions also taught you to sing?” Makalaurë said, drawing Maitimo’s attention back to the matter at hand.

The children nodded.

“Well then, you shall demonstrate for me.” Makalaurë positioned his hands against the harp strings.

“You mean – you want us to sing?” Hrávelen asked.

“Of course! What songs do you know?”

The song they picked was one that Makalaurë already worked on, but Maitimo was unsure whether the children knew of his brother’s new version. Nevertheless, Makalaurë began the melody on his harp, and, at his nod, the children sang.

Maitimo did not move. He hardly dared to breathe lest he break the steady stream of the children’s music. They sang clear and strong, calling to the heavens, and Maitimo would not be surprised if all the stars came falling upon them in answer.

Hrávelen took on the melody of the song while Lindelen harmonized, sweet and soft. Maitimo thought back to Makalaurë’s mention of the Pelóri. It was an apt description, for if the children’s voices could take on physicality, it would undoubtedly be the pure, glittering snow, touched by the mingling lights of the Trees.

When the song came to an end, Makalaurë was silent. There was a gleam in his eyes, and it took Maitimo only a moment to realize that his brother, above all others in musicality, was impressed.

It took him yet another moment to realize that the twins had sung Makalaurë’s perfected version of the song.

_Should I tell Atar about this?_

His father would surely want to hear about the children’s resistance. Yet Maitimo hesitated. The thought of telling Fëanáro felt like an act of betrayal against the children.

He would wait a little while, he decided. He would let Makalaurë see how strong they were, and if Maitimo found it troublesome, then he would make mention of it.

“That was very good,” Makalaurë declared, and the children visibly relaxed, tension leaving their shoulders. “There was one verse that you stumbled over, however. I will teach you, hmm?”

“We would be honoured, my lord,” Hrávelen said eagerly.

When they began the song again, Maitimo backed out of the room, keeping quiet. The children would be well looked after with his brother. Even though part of Maitimo wished to stay and listen, he could not ignore the work that awaited him.

He moved to close the door, yet at that moment, the children halted in their singing and turned to look at him.

“Where are you going, Maitimo?” Lindelen asked, a quaver in his voice.

“I must leave for now,” Maitimo replied, hoping to put them at ease. “But you may stay.”

“Indeed. Let my brother deal with his lordly duties,” Makalaurë said. “Come now, children. You were doing so well!”

They did not heed him immediately. Maitimo nodded to them and closed the door, and for a heartbeat he fully expected the children to run to him.

Yet they did not. He stood outside the door for a breath, and then another. Only when their singing began did he exhale with relief.

He could still hear their music even as he left the corridor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looks like Elured made a bit of a slip-up there ^^;;;  
> Also, Makalaure isn't supposed to look as sad as he is in Maglor's design (since his design is for Beleriand) XDD
> 
> Your comments and kudos are all greatly appreciated! <3


	12. Within the Armoury

When Fëanáro summoned them to the armoury after the evening meal, Maitimo was not completely surprised. The festival upon Taniquetil was in five days, and Fëanáro was taking every extra precaution with his treasures. 

A knot formed in Maitimo’s stomach as he and his brothers followed Fëanáro to the armoury. Finwë walked with them, a pillar of steadfastness and serenity, and having him there provided the extra strength that Maitimo needed. Entering the armoury could only mean that Fëanáro had something important to tell them, perhaps extra instructions to carry out while he was gone. The armoury was the safest place for such conversations, soundproof and impenetrable by any. It, just like the entirety of Formenos, had been designed by Fëanáro’s hand. No other place was so secure.

The doors to the armoury opened at Fëanáro’s command, and they all descended down a stairwell. The stone walls were lined with lamps, and upon reaching the bottom, they found themselves in a cavernous chamber, dimly lit by lamps in the corners. Ornate chests, displays of armour, and gleaming blades lined the walls, allowing only a narrow path that cut through the chamber.

Fëanáro led them to the far end of the armoury, where, sitting upon an altar of stone, was an iron safe. Maitimo’s heart began to race as he watched his father take out a heavy, plain key and unlock the safe’s door.

Before opening it, he turned to face Finwë and his seven sons.

“Manwë has sent confirmation that I will be expected at the festival,” he said. “Whatever transpires there, I expect you all to remain on your guard here. Enter the armoury should you have need of weapons or armour.”

His gaze softened ever so slightly. “I am permitting you one last look at the Silmarils. What the Valar desire is allowed only for my true kin.”

The entire chamber held its breath. The door made no sound as Fëanáro slowly swung it open.

All at once, streams of pure light spilled forth, growing brighter and brighter as the door opened fully.

All of them stood there, bathed in the white fire of the Silmarils. Maitimo heard sharp intakes of breath from some of his brothers, but he did not know who it was. His own breathing seemed to have stopped as he gazed at the Jewels, resting upon their cushioned seat. He thought he might go blind, yet he did not. Within the light of the Silmarils, everything was cast in perfect clarity, more so than in his own excellent vision.

Fëanáro carefully picked up one of the Silmarils. He held it as tenderly as one held a babe, and in its light, he appeared as a Vala to Maitimo, tall and terrible, full of raw power.  _ Atar, _ Maitimo wanted to say, yet his voice stuck in his throat.

His brothers looked just as spellbound as he felt, staring at the Jewels with awe and longing. Fëanáro smirked slightly and replaced the Silmaril he held onto its cushion.

Without thinking, Maitimo stepped forward.

Fëanáro arched a brow, but did not stop Maitimo as he came closer to the safe. His right hand hovered over the Silmaril that his father had held.

What was he even  _ doing? _

He was only distantly aware of Fëanáro’s presence near his side, of his brothers and grandfather somewhere behind him. The Silmaril before him pulsed warmly, wrapping tendrils of light around his hand, his wrist.

A strain of song brushed against Maitimo’s mind.

_ Nelyafinwë. _

Maitimo swallowed and, with a deep breath, took the Jewel in his hand.

The Silmaril seemed to expand until its light took up the whole of Maitimo’s vision. He was floating, falling, surrounded by white fire. At times the light parted before him like a mist, revealing something, or someone, but he could hardly make out the details before another vision was presented to him.

A flash of gold … or was it a feather? A coppery smell passed under his nostrils, followed by a flash of red … fire? Metal glinting, a rush of cold wind … There was too much passing by, and Maitimo tried to close his eyes, tried to pull away. The Silmaril was warm in his hand, pulsing gently, fluttering against his palm like a heartbeat.

_ Nelyafinwë. _

The Jewel’s song was firm, almost harsh, as though laced with fire from a forge. Proud, as though sung from a mountaintop, high above any other. Yet there was also a familiarity to it …

Maitimo thought, fleetingly, of his father. 

The Silmaril pulsed again, warmer.

_ What do you want of me? _ Maitimo asked.

He heard its response in his mind, woven from the melody of its music, unyielding as stone.

_ You sing. I listen. _

Maitimo pulled away again, but he was caught in the Silmaril’s light. It held him in a mesh of glittering strands.

_ I will not, _ he said.

_ Stay, _ the Silmaril chimed insistently.  _ Sing. _

_ No. _ Maitimo pushed against the Jewel’s song. He did not know what would happen if he sang to it, and he did not want to know.

_ Nelyafinwë. Why will you not sing? _ The Silmaril’s light bore into Maitimo’s eyes, yet he held firm with all his might. If he responded, would it be in words or song? 

More images passed before him, disappearing in wisps of white mist. In one of them, he thought he saw a pale orb hanging in the midst of a dark veil, and the sight of it brought the children to his mind.

The Silmaril quivered. Its song took on a note of curiosity.

Maitimo attempted to push the thought away, but his memory took shape in the light of the Jewel. Hrávelen – or was it Lindelen? – gazed back at him with pale, saddened eyes. Unease coiled in Maitimo’s chest; he wanted to be out of the child’s sight, away from the weariness and grief roiling in the little one’s gaze.

The feeling rose within him, suffocating, tightening in his chest. At the same time, he felt the Silmaril recoil at his memory of the child’s sorrow.

The light shifted around Maitimo, releasing him, and he gasped for breath as one surfacing from deep waters. The armoury reformed in his peripheral vision, and the Silmaril was once again a bright Jewel on his palm.

Even as its light pulled away from Maitimo, the vision of the child closed his eyes and faded away.

Maitimo laid the Silmaril onto its cushion, resisting every urge to snatch his hand away, and took a step back from the safe. The palm of his right hand tingled as though hundreds of ants crawled over it.

His brothers had moved closer to the safe, drawn in by the alluring Jewels. Maitimo spotted Fëanáro glancing at him, but his gaze was inscrutable.

Maitimo’s heart beat wildly against his ribs. Whatever the Silmaril had shown him, he did not understand it, and he was not sure if he wanted to. When Fëanáro finally closed the safe door and locked it, Maitimo felt nothing but relief.

“Are you alright, brother?” Ambarussa asked in a hushed voice as they left the armoury. “When you held the Silmaril, I thought …”

“I am fine,” Maitimo said casually. He did not mention the visions, nor the Jewel’s song. Ambarussa looked worried enough as it was.

His hand tingled still.

_ You sing. I listen. _

Maitimo shook his head in an attempt to clear it. Why had the Silmaril done this to him? Why show him a vision? Was it because he held it? Was this what Fëanáro went through every time he touched the Jewels?

Maitimo shivered. His father was highly protective of the Silmarils, that much was common knowledge. But how much of that was by Fëanáro’s own mind, and how much was the Silmarils’ influence?

“I must say,” Curufinwë said, striding up to Maitimo’s other side. “I am surprised you touched the Silmaril. I did not think Atar would permit any of us to do so.”

Maitimo frowned. “Why?”

“I heard mention of some disagreement,” Curufinwë said vaguely. The lamplight threw his face into relief, making him look like a cast of Fëanáro. “And when I spoke to him earlier, he seemed … disappointed. Well, you know how it is when he is in a mood.”

Maitimo swallowed. Yes, he did know. Fëanáro usually barricaded himself in his forge or study; in the past he worked on projects, but after the Silmarils, there was nothing he could think of that would be any greater than his Jewels.

And as for Fëanáro’s disappointment .. Was it at Maitimo himself? Because he would not turn out two innocent children? Something hot churned in his gut, and for a moment he forgot about his tingling hand.

He soon separated from his brothers, passing alone down a corridor to his bedchamber. Some sleep would do him good after a long day …

Maitimo’s messengers returned early the next morning. Gathering within his study, those who had gone to Alqualondë proceeded to give their report.

“We searched around the outer settlements and the central square. There are some Teleri who bear a faint resemblance to the children, my lord, but we are unsure if it means anything. 

“We also spoke with the Teleri – under disguise, of course – and none of them recognized the children’s description.”

“How many people did you speak to?” Maitimo asked shrewdly.

“Many, my lord. Nor is anyone missing two children. I am sure King Olwë would have made known of it if that was the situation.”

Maitimo rubbed his chin in thought. He could trust his men to be very thorough. If there was nothing amiss in Alqualondë, not even any mention of the children, then they must not hail from there at all. So they had spoken falsely?

No, that was not right. They never confirmed it. It was based only on Maitimo and Fëanáro’s assumptions. Maitimo heaved out a heavy sigh.

“And what of your findings in Tirion?” he asked.

The last few messengers handed him two letters. One was sealed with the emblem of Nolofinwë, the other of Arafinwë. 

“Thank you,” he said. “You are dismissed until I have need of you again.” With that, the messengers bowed and departed.

Silence fell upon the study as Maitimo opened the first letter with trembling hands. He unfolded it to reveal Findekáno’s elegant handwriting.

_ Dearest Maitimo, _

_ You cannot imagine how glad I am to hear from you! It has been very long, and I worried very much. So it is good to know that you are well. I trust the same goes for your family, as much as they can be. _

_ I will admit I still have not forgiven your father. Part of me still wonders if I have truly forgiven you for standing aside, but I do not hate you. You may not believe me, Maitimo, but I still think of you as my dearest friend, my sworn brother. My heart will ease in time. _

_ Now, as for your query, I find it very curious that you should ask! I did happen to meet two young stars during the athletic feats – and they match your description exactly! They were such charming boys, and rather shy. I did not even think to ask them where they came from! If I had known they were living with you, I would have asked after you. _

_ But to answer your question, I have never met them before now, and neither has Arakáno. I think I would remember meeting such peculiar children as they! Turukáno and Írissë say the same, and even Amil and Atar. You should have seen their faces when I asked them! _

_ I do not know how the children found you, Maitimo, but I must say that they are very fortunate indeed. I could think of no one better to help them, and I hope my words will be of help to you as well. _

_ Rest assured you are always welcome to send word to me, should you need something. _

_ May the stars shine upon you, _

_ Findekáno Nolofinwion _

Maitimo traced his fingers over the words. A shaky smile formed on his face; he could hear his cousin’s voice in his mind as he read the letter again. As it was in his youth, his dear friend never stopped loving even when hurt. He had a greater heart than Maitimo could ever hope to have.

He now sat up straighter in his seat, taking his cousin’s words to heart.  _ Findekáno, you have aided me greatly yet again. _ His words were more helpful than he could ever know. So the children never came near to the House of Nolofinwë!

Maitimo quickly opened the second letter and read through its contents, written in Findaráto’s hand. His cousin’s message was quite brief in comparison to Findekáno’s.

_ Dear Maitimo, _

_ This is quite unexpected, but not unwelcome. I am glad to hear from you, if only to know that you are doing well up north.  _

_ The tale you tell is rather interesting. What could bring two little ones to Uncle Fëanáro’s doorstep? In answer to your question: no, I have never seen two children by this description. I did ask around for your sake; none of my kin has heard of it, so I think I can safely assure you that no such children have ever entered this house. _

_ May the Trees light your path, _

_ Artafinde Findaráto Arafinwion _

Hope built in Maitimo’s heart. If this was certainly true, then the children had no prior connections to Nolofinwë and Arafinwë’s houses. Fëanáro would be unable to accuse them of any activity in that regard, if he ever tried to.

At the same time, doubt gnawed at Maitimo. None of this answered his question. Where did Hrávelen and Lindelen hail from? Perhaps somewhere in Tirion or Valmar, but as his messengers said, the situation would have been made known to everybody. Several eyes keeping a lookout was better than just a few.

One solution was to go to the Valar, but that would violate Fëanáro’s banishment. His people could depart, of course; they were not banished, but they had chosen to follow their prince. That was the only reason why Maitimo’s messengers were able to leave without being caught.

He rubbed his temples wearily. All this, and he still had things to prepare for Fëanáro’s departure. Perhaps he should drag the Ambarussat in to take care of business while he dealt with this!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys are all doing well! Another Monday, another chapter loll And poor Maitimo, he's got so much work to do XDD
> 
> Your comments and kudos are greatly appreciated <3


	13. A Confrontation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally two chapters, but I decided to combine them because I didn't want to put you guys through another short chapter ^^;;

Makalaurë was not the same music teacher as Maglor, and that was not really a good thing.

With each flourish of Makalaurë’s hand, the cant of his head, and vibration of his voice, the difference solidified in Elurín’s mind.

Whether Eluréd noticed the same details or not, Elurín was not sure, but they were both in agreement on the matter.

“Was Maglor ever this tough during our lessons?” Eluréd sighed as he flopped onto the bed. They were nearly finished in getting ready for the day. “I think not. This Makalaurë is going to have us sing unto death!”

Elurín rubbed his dry throat and took another sip of water. “At least our singing is getting better,” he said, wincing at the slight hoarseness of his voice.

“Well, Makalaurë insists, so I suppose we are.”

Makalaurë indeed insisted. _Again, children! You are doing so well. The next try will be better!_ Elurín thanked the Valar that Makalaurë could not keep them in the music room all day. They had their duties and chores, after all. Nor was Elurín interested in singing the same verse over and over again for one lesson until he mastered it. He enjoyed singing very much, but at home with _Maglor._ This Makalaurë seemed determined to banish Elurín’s enjoyment of music from every fibre of his being.

There were some upsides to the lessons. Makalaurë was still unable to find out how they resisted his visions, though in truth, Elurín and Eluréd could not fully resist them. Some images slipped by, even more so when Elurín was weary. Not that Makalaurë needed to know, though. Elurín's heart pounded nervously whenever Makalaurë paced the room, muttering “eyes closed” to himself on occasion.

If only Makalaurë knew that it was _himself_ who had taught them to resist his own music!

It had been Maglor’s idea, back in Elurín and Eluréd’s time. He had hoped that, in learning to fight against his song’s power, they might have a chance to resist those who were not so benevolent. Sauron came first to mind. Elurín knew the tale of Finrod Felagund and how he had faced the Dark Lord’s lieutenant in a battle of song. Surely Elurín and Eluréd would not fight a Maia anytime soon, but Maglor had insisted. The learning process was made easier by the twins’ Maian blood, diluted as it was, and they were soon able to “close their eyes,” so to speak.

But if they faced a Maia … Elurín was not sure how well they would fare. Maglor was powerful, but not as much as a Maia, or even a Vala. Yet he had meant well in teaching them, and Elurín was glad for the lessons.

Both he and Eluréd knew, of course, of the other reason why Maglor had taught them, yet they did not speak of it openly. Nevertheless, Elurín sometimes thought of it in the darkness of night, the fortress of Amon Ereb was all silent.

 _Foster-uncle or not, he is still a Kinslayer,_ Elurín mused. _If the Oath took hold of him, and we stood in his way … If it came down to voices and not swords, he would want us to stop him and win._

Elurín set his cup down on the table, wishing that he could hear Maglor’s melodies on the harp. They were sad and gentle, not at all like the heart-pounding stream of notes that Makalaurë drew out from his instruments from day to day. Elurín wondered what Makalaurë would do if given a composition of a soft lament.

 _Most likely he will scribble all over it and call it “perfected,”_ Elurín thought with a roll of his eyes. Makalaurë’s haughty ramblings on the perfection of art got tiring after a while. How did Maitimo and his brothers put up with it?

Thinking of the brothers turned Elurín’s mind to the Ambarussat. He still could not believe that he had truly met them, spoken to them … Seeing Amras (Ambarussa, in this time) had been a very welcome surprise, but even more shocking was the sight of Amrod – Ambarto (or Umbarto? Elurín wondered), his long lost twin. They looked so alike, even down to the freckles …

The only difference was Amrod’s hair, which was a darker shade of red than Amras and Maedhros’. Yet even that was not enough to provide a clear distinction. Elurín still grimaced at the mistake he made with the raspberries. He had thought himself speaking to Ambarussa, so used to Amras’ visage was he, and yet it had been Ambarto. He hoped they did not think too much of his small blunder.

_Oh, but Amras, you look just the same. I miss you. What would you say if you could see us now?_

“How is your throat?” Eluréd asked.

“A little better,” Elurín replied.

“Try not to use it too much today.” Eluréd leaped down from the bed and went over to him. “Let me do the talking. You only need to listen.”

Elurín smiled. “Shall we go, then?”

“If you are ready.”

“I am always ready to bid Adar a good morning.”

* * *

Maitimo stood at the balustrade near his family’s quarters, gazing out at the land of Valinor, at the cities in the distance. He had hardly slept at all, not with the Silmaril’s song hovering on the edges of his mind, seeping into his dreams; or even with the matter of the children’s origins. It was all a whirlwind; he felt as though he was caught in a storm, grasping things he could not see.

He sighed heavily and turned to leave, yet something halted him. A presence, or perhaps two, and situated nearby. Maitimo tried to ignore the slight twist of his gut, and, putting on a smile, glanced over his shoulder.

Two white-haired heads peeked out from around the corridor. Upon seeing that he knew they were there, the children hurried over. “Good morning,” they chimed.

“Good morning,” he replied.

Unbidden, the memory of the Silmaril’s vision rose in Maitimo’s mind, enhanced by the sight of Hrávelen and Lindelen before him, their oval faces and hair like draping curtains. A tight knot formed in Maitimo’s stomach.

They followed him wordlessly as he passed from one corridor to the next. The tension around them was nearly palpable, or perhaps it was only Maitimo’s own nerves. When they passed near an open courtyard, he finally halted and turned to face the children.

Hrávelen and Lindelen looked up at him in question, and Maitimo saw the shadows turning in their eyes, deep as the sea.

“Boys,” he said firmly. “I must know. Why do you follow me everywhere?”

All at once they looked uncomfortable, but Maitimo was not going to back down this time. Enough was enough.

"Do you want us to go?" Lindelen asked, softer than a breath. Was it Maitimo's imagination, or was the child's voice a little dry?

"That is not an answer." Maitimo fixed them with a stern eye, waiting.

"We, er …" Hrávelen began.

"We like you a lot." Lindelen's voice turned raspish, and he cleared his throat. Hrávelen frowned at his sheepish brother.

"I like you as well," Maitimo replied.

The children stared up at him; something akin to hope glimmered in their eyes. "You do?" Hrávelen asked.

Maitimo kept his expression kindly neutral. He had said it more to put them at ease than anything else. He did not _dislike_ them, at least.

"You like my brothers, do you not?" he pointed out. "Yet you do not follow them."

Lindelen looked away, yet Hrávelen held Maitimo's gaze. "We are most comfortable around you," the child replied.

 _I do not feel the same._ The words did not pass Maitimo's lips. He could not say it to the children; it would not be fair to them.

If only he could understand more about them! If only they would trust him enough to tell him more of their grief. The knot in Maitimo’s stomach tightened.

“Children,” he began. They watched him expectantly.

 _Will you not tell me the truth?_ The question hovered on his tongue but never left him, for at that moment, a voice rang out.

“Maitimo! There you are.”

Maitimo turned to see Finwë striding toward them. His grandfather smiled bright. “I was looking all over for you –”

Finwë halted suddenly, some ten feet away, the smile sliding from his face. Maitimo’s brow furrowed, but he stepped forward. “Good morning, Grandfather. What is it?”

The children shuffled to his side. Maitimo glanced down at them; they stared at Finwë with a mix of awe and shock.

Finwë’s lower lip trembled. He seemed to have frozen in place. What was going on?

Then his grandfather’s mouth moved, and Maitimo heard him whisper, ever so softly, _“Elwë."_

Something passed through the air around them, like a swift charge of energy, or something greater. Hrávelen grasped Lindelen’s hand, and they dashed away down the hall. 

“Boys!” Maitimo cried after them, aghast. 

Finwë moved, his hand outstretched, looking as though to call them back, but he stopped himself. His face was terribly pale, and his hand shook.

“Grandfather?” Maitimo said, bewildered. “Are you alright?”

Finwë inhaled a trembling breath. When he turned to Maitimo, his gaze was flint. “Maitimo. Who are those children?”

* * *

Elurín was gasping for breath by the time they reached the gardens outside Fëanáro’s house. They stopped beside the ornamental pond; a searing stitch was in Elurín’s side, and he collapsed beside the calm waters. Eluréd remained standing, breathing heavily.

“What do we do now?” Elurín whispered.

His brother merely shook his head.

Elurín drew his knees up to his chest. _Grandfather,_ Maitimo had said. They had just seen Finwë, father of Fëanáro, first High King of the Noldor in Valinor. He was so tall, with long, raven hair, and wearing a cream-coloured cloak with red embroidery. There was no crown on his head. He would not be wearing one in exile, Elurín mused.

But what had shocked him most was Finwë’s reaction to seeing them. _Elwë,_ he had whispered.

“He saw Great-Grandfather in our faces,” Elurín murmured.

“Of course he did,” Eluréd said, staring off into the distance. “Nobody else looks like us. Nobody _here,_ in any case.”

“But what if he realizes –?”

“That we are from Beleriand?” Eluréd shook his head again. “He cannot. At least, I do not think so. It will not make sense.”

“He will come after us,” Elurín said, his chest tightening. “He will ask us questions. And if he learns the truth, what if he takes us away?”

They would want to know how Elurín and Eluréd came to be here, after all. Elurín did not know who _they_ were – perhaps the Valar, or just anybody in Valinor, including Maitimo.

“If he finds us first, he might,” Eluréd replied. “But we can hide.”

Elurín blinked. “You do not mean … run away?”

“No. I mean, we can avoid him. It is a big house.”

“But if Adar summons us …”

Eluréd scratched his head, a deep frown on his face as he thought. Elurín sighed, wishing that they could start the day over. First Maitimo, and now Finwë …

 _Oh, Adar._ Elurín shivered as he remembered the unease in Maitimo’s gaze. Had he always looked that way when they were with him? Had they always made him so – uncomfortable?

Fear bubbled within Elurín’s gut, and with it came anger. There was a _reason_ why they followed him! It had always been important to Elurín and Eluréd, and Maedhros of Amon Ereb understood. He let them follow, and if they strayed too far from him, he followed _them,_ even if from a distance. For all his talk of letting them grow and learn so they could go out into the world on their own, there was a part of him that still _worried_ – a part of him that remembered his younger brothers, his dear cousins, and little Elurín and Eluréd lying in the snow. If he was uneasy, it was because Elurín and Eluréd strayed too far from his side, even if their straying was deemed necessary, even if he allowed it. Maedhros cared for them. He wanted them to be safe, and he wanted them to be prepared for when they finally left Amon Ereb.

 _We convinced him to let us stay a little longer,_ Elurín mused. _But we will have to leave eventually._

Maitimo, on the other hand … Elurín’s anger rose up, bubbled, and then dissipated into a mess of feelings that he could not make sense of. Tears stung his eyes. He wanted to be back in Amon Ereb, with Adar Maedhros, and gentle Maglor, and twin-less Amras. He did not know this land, or the people in it. He thought he had, but he did not know anything at all.

Eluréd held out a hand. “Come on. They will find us easily if we stay out here in plain sight.”

Elurín exhaled and took his brother’s hand.

They wandered around the grounds for a while, keeping close to trees or hedges in the hopes that nobody would see them. The only Elves out at this hour were a few gardeners. What was happening inside the house? Was Maitimo looking for them? Was Finwë? Perhaps they would check the kitchens first. Elurín felt a twinge of guilt; he and Eluréd should be helping Mastaro now, but here they were, trying to hide. How long would they stay outside? Elurín did not know, but neither did he want to know what would happen if they went inside now.

They soon found themselves on the other side of the house, crouched behind a large tree in bloom. It was not yet lunchtime, but Elurín’s stomach rumbled all the same. Birds sang to each other in the trees, and a dog barked some distance away. “Eluréd,” he said softly. “I think we can go inside now.”

Eluréd did not look convinced, yet at Elurín’s pleading look, his shoulders slumped in resignation. “Oh, alright. And remember, if we run into anybody who starts asking questions, do not say anything.”

“But what if they get pushy?”

“Then I will do the talking. Do not worry, brother. All will be well eventually.”

Elurín had thought so when they first arrived at Formenos. He thought things would be alright once they found Maitimo, yet nothing felt right.

There was a snuffling sound nearby. Elurín and Eluréd turned to see a large hound standing a few feet away. The sight of it sent Elurín’s heart into a panicked frenzy. Likewise, Eluréd took a step back, eyes wide and breathing quick.

“There you are, wild one,” Tyelkormo said, stepping out from behind the blooming tree. “And your quiet brother.”

Elurín shrank behind Eluréd, unable to quell the pounding of his heart or the cold shivers tingling down his spine. _What do we do now? What do we do?_

“It seems you have caused my brother much unneeded grief,” Tyelkormo continued. “So I am here to take care of it for him.”

Neither Elurín nor Eluréd said anything. Tyelkormo eyed them for a moment.

“You should know that my brother has many duties to deal with, and even though you are the least of them, you are adding extra weight onto his shoulders.”

“If that is so, then he would tell us instead of sending a messenger,” Eluréd snapped, clearly stung by Tyelkormo’s words.

 _No, no!_ Elurín wanted to cry. _Do not goad him!_ He gripped Eluréd’s wrist, but Eluréd did not heed him.

Tyelkormo fixed Eluréd with an amused half-smile, yet his eyes remained cold and blazing. “I see you have not learned to school your tongue, boy. Remember that you were allowed to stay here only by my brother’s grace. But now you are getting underfoot, and that is the last thing we need at this hour.”

“We are not –” Eluréd began.

“You have no business being here.” Tyelkormo suddenly towered over them, a dark silhouette against Laurelin’s waxing light. Elurín trembled; something pounded in the back of his head. “You are under my brother’s care, and you repay him by clinging to his legs. He is the eldest son of a prince; what are _you?”_

Eluréd’s shoulders and fists shook, but he said nothing.

Tyelkormo leaned back, a dark look on his face. “If you continue at this,” he said, voice low with warning, “you can rest assured that I will be the one to take care of matters. Do you understand?”

He did not wait for a reply. Turning on his heel, he strode off toward the house with Huan at his heels. Elurín watched him go, shaking from head to toe.

Tyelkormo halted several feet away. “You ought not to keep him waiting,” he said over his shoulder, and then set off again.

Elurín’s chest tightened, making it hard to breathe. Flashes of memory passed through his mind: great fires consuming all; clashing blades mingling with frightened screams. Rough hands grabbing at his arms and legs while he struggled, crying all the while, his robes tearing in the process. Landing in the harsh, cold snow, his limbs turning numb.

His feet were moving under him, propelling him forward, but not in the direction of the house. His hair whipped at his face, but he paid it no heed. He only needed to keep going.

The main gates were just ahead, open for servants who were streaming through with supplies. He dashed past them, through the gateway, and his slippered feet hit the hard, cobblestone ground. Tall, stone buildings rose up around him.

_Run, as fast as you can. You must get away. From him and his servants._

A small part of him wondered about Eluréd. Then he felt a presence behind him, a familiar one, and he knew that his brother was still with him. Together they would escape the Kinslayers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tyelkormo, that wasn't very nice >:<  
> We're getting closer to a revelation on the twins' part, and now that Finwe knows of them ... Well, that'll either help them or put them in deeper waters XDD
> 
> Your comments and kudos are greatly appreciated! Thank you all so much for sticking with me this far <3


	14. Maitimo Repents

“And that is how we came to be here,” Maitimo finished.

Finwë paced the length of the drawing room, hands clasped behind his back, a distant look on his face. He paused to smile warmly at Maitimo. “It was good of you to take them in. I only hope that they will be found safely.”

“Do not worry, Grandfather,” Makalaurë said from his place near the window, tuning his small harp. “The Ambarussat did much the same, and far more frequently than we can count.”

“If anybody can find them,” Maitimo added, “it is Huan.”

He remembered the adventures of his youth, running out into the gardens with his brothers when Huan was still a young pup. The pup’s nose had been exceptional even for Valinor’s hounds, able to follow the faintest of trails.

Maitimo and Finwë had attempted their own search, only to run into Tyelkormo early on. Enlisting Huan’s help would save more time than Maitimo could afford to spare, especially when he needed to focus on his work.

“These children are not the Ambarussat, dearest,” Finwë said patiently. 

Maitimo regarded his grandfather. He stood with calm composure, yet something glinted in his eyes, something that Maitimo could not read. The sight of the children had shaken Finwë. And the mention of Elwë … Maitimo knew of that name and its person from long-ago stories, told by his grandfather when Maitimo was very young. He had not heard that name for so long. Why now?

At that moment, Tyelkormo came into the drawing room. Huan bounded ahead of him and halted at Maitimo’s side, looking up at him expectantly. Maitimo chuckled and scratched the great hound behind his ears.

“I found them,” Tyelkormo said shortly before Finwë could ask. “They should be along.”

Maitimo frowned. “You did not accompany them?”

“I am not their caretaker,” Tyelkormo snapped, but at Finwë’s stern look, he did not speak further. 

Maitimo sighed. “Thank you,” he murmured.

Tyelkormo grunted, went over to the polished oak table, and took an apple from the display bowl. Huan followed, wagging his tail. After the first two bites, Tyelkormo took another apple and tossed it to Huan who caught it eagerly.

Maitimo turned away, running a hand through his hair. 

”Is something the matter?” Makalaurë asked.

Maitimo looked up. “What?”

His brother plucked a string. “You are thinking of the snow-caps,” he said.

“The wild one and his brother,” Tyelkormo corrected him, a slight scowl on his face.

“The stars,” Maitimo said automatically. “And – no, I was not.”

Finwë arched an eyebrow. “How many names do these children have?”

Makalaurë tuned another string with a slight shrug. Maitimo sighed, too weary to protest further. In truth, the children were not far from his thought, but he did not need Makalaurë triumphing over him.

“Why do you even keep them around?” Tyelkormo asked, drawing Maitimo from his thoughts. “They are only a nuisance.”

“Not for me,” Makalaurë said, even though it was not him who Tyelkormo addressed. “I have plans for them.”

“Maitimo,” Tyelkormo insisted.

Maitimo turned to face him, his patience wearing thin. “It is none of your concern, brother.”

Tyelkormo’s scowl deepened, but in the face of Maitimo’s dark look, he did not reply.

“Speaking of the children,” Makalaurë said, unconcerned by the silent, roiling exchange between his brothers, “did you not say they would follow shortly?”

Maitimo frowned, glancing first at Makalaurë and then at the door.

“They will,” Tyelkormo said with indifference.

“Is that so?”

They all turned towards the doorway. Maitimo’s heart leapt into his throat; there stood Fëanáro, with Curufinwë hovering at his side.

“I heard that there was some trouble this morning,” Fëanáro said, turning to Maitimo with a pointed look. “Care to explain?”

“Atar, it is nothing serious.” Beads of sweat formed on the back of Maitimo’s neck.

“I told you to send them away,” Fëanáro said, eyes flashing. “Will you still refuse even after this?”

Maitimo swallowed. “This is not their fault.”

“Indeed it is not,” Finwë said, stepping forward. Fëanáro turned to him in surprise, and Finwë continued, “It is mine. I startled them away. But Tyelkormo has found them, and they will return soon. All will be well again.”

“This is more than just a simple matter, Atar,” Fëanáro insisted. “We know nearly nothing about them. They have no good excuse to give, either. If I hear that they have dealings with your other sons –”

“When they return, we can ask them,” Finwë said soothingly.

“I did some searching,” Maitimo offered, and all eyes turned to him once again. “They have no connection to Nolofinwë or Arafinwë.”

Fëanáro narrowed his eyes. “And Alqualondë?”

Maitimo hesitated. A sense of foreboding came upon him. “From what I gathered, there are no missing children from Alqualondë. They might not hail from there as we thought.”

A dark shadow fell over his father’s face. “Then where do they come from? The emptier lands of Aman? A domain we know not about? A Vala’s halls –?”

A heartbeat of silence passed. Maitimo realized Fëanáro’s thought before his father even voiced it. “If they are of Melkor’s brood –”

“Fëanáro!” Finwë said in disbelief. “My son, that is too far. Come now, they are only children.” When Fëanáro made to respond, Finwë laid his hands on his shoulders. “I know you are concerned. We all are as well. When they return, we will have them explain themselves, and all shall be settled.”

Maitimo doubted Fëanáro would ever be satisfied with just that, but if there was one thing Fëanáro could not do at all, it was fight against his father.

Fëanáro clenched his jaw. “Very well, Atar.”

Finwë smiled. “Come now, let us go. Your sons have this under control. We can discuss other things in the meantime.”

And with that, they left the drawing room, but not before Fëanáro cast a narrowed eye in Maitimo’s direction.

With the room empty of Fëanáro’s presence, Maitimo allowed himself a breath of relief. He must remember to thank Finwë for intervening. If he had not, things would have likely gone much differently … 

It seemed only a few seconds had passed before someone else arrived – Mastaro, looking somewhat disheveled. He stepped into the room and bowed; his chest rose and fell heavily, as though he had run throughout the house.

“Forgive me, my lords,” he said to them, yet his eyes fell on Maitimo. “Have you seen the little ones? They have not returned.”

Maitimo breathed deep through his nostrils, then exhaled just as slow. “Tyelko,” he said, “did you not tell them to come directly to me?”

His brother bit into his apple, chewing fiercely.

Maitimo rounded on him. _"_ _Tyelkormo."_

The room seemed to hold its breath. Even Makalaurë paused in his harp-tuning, watching the proceedings.

“I told them not to keep you waiting,” Tyelkormo relented. “But the rascals are bent on disobeying, it seems.”

“Disobeying willfully,” Maitimo asked, his fists clenching, “or because of harsh words?”

Tyelkormo’s eyes flashed.

“What did you say to them?”

His brother said nothing, yet Huan whined softly.

“Whatever exchanged between them,” Curufinwë said from the shadows, startling Maitimo, “no doubt it was necessary to be said.”

Something flared in Maitimo’s chest at that. Something bright and burning, but also twisting his heart with guilt. Had he truly thought that Tyelkormo would take the matter seriously? That he would have pity on Hrávelen and Lindelen?

Maitimo should have been the one to search for them, not anyone else.

He did not know where this feeling came from, but he now felt it all over.

“Where are you going?” Makalaurë asked, his tone carrying surprise.

Maitimo realized he was already outside the drawing room. Turning back, he clicked his tongue. “Huan. Come with me.”

Huan stood and bounded over to him, and Maitimo could see his own regret mirrored in the hound’s eyes.

“Maitimo!” Tyelkormo said sharply. “You cannot take him.”

“He will help me find the children and bring them back,” Maitimo said firmly. “If you had done as I asked, there would be no need for this.”

Tyelkormo scowled, but before he could protest further, Maitimo was already halfway down the corridor with Huan at his side.

He prayed that the children had not gone far.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maitimo is tired with your bullshit, Tyelko >:<  
> Next chapter will be a little revelation on the twins' part, so I look forward to posting that one XDD Thanks for sticking with me this far, guys <3
> 
> Your comments and kudos are all greatly appreciated! :D


	15. Our Maimed Adar

Tall trees grew all around, with a green canopy of leaves hanging overhead. Elurín crouched at the base of a large trunk, his hair draped all around his face, shielding him from the world.

The flashes of memory were receding. He was no longer in Menegroth or the snowy woods. He was in Formenos. 

His pounding heart did not calm at that thought.

“Elurín?” Eluréd breathed, gently shaking his shoulders.

Elurín shuddered and looked up into his brother’s face. “I – I am sorry,” he mumbled. “I do not know what came over me.”

Eluréd’s gaze was soft. “You remembered, did you not? I did too.”

With his brother’s help, Elurín managed to stand on shaky legs. Looking around, he realized that they were actually in some forest of sorts. Trees surrounded them, covered in dappled, golden light. Perhaps this was a section of land within Formenos? 

“We are still in the fortress,” Eluréd said, confirming Elurín’s thoughts. “See over there?”

Elurín followed his brother’s direction. The trees thinned out in the distance, and he saw a few stone buildings. They were far enough within the forest that he could not make out the exact details.

A shiver passed down Elurín’s spine as he remembered how they ended up here. “Eluréd,” he said, “I do not think we can return to the house. We – _I_ have caused so much trouble. They will want us to go.”

As much as it tore at him, he knew it was true. All they did ever since arriving was cause problems. The encounter with Tyelkormo, following Maitimo around everywhere … No doubt Maitimo wished they were gone. Elurín’s eyes stung with tears, and he hastily blinked them away.

Meanwhile, many emotions warred on Eluréd’s face. Discomfort, uncertainty, understanding. “I know,” he eventually said, though it was apparent that he wished he did not. “We – we should leave.”

“But where?” Elurín whispered. “We do not know how to get back home.”

“I still wonder how we even got here at all!” Eluréd rubbed his forehead with a heavy sigh. “It should not be possible to go back in time. Perhaps – perhaps it was the Valar’s doing, or some Maia.”

Elurín bit his lip in thought. “If it was by their doing, then maybe … Maybe we were sent here for a reason?”

Eluréd frowned. “What reason would that be?”

“Well, we are in Valinor,” Elurín said carefully. “And Fëanor lives in Formenos, so it is after his banishment. And he … He has already made the Silmarils.”

They met each other’s gaze. Elurín saw the pieces fitting behind his brother’s eyes, forming a look of realization on his face.

Eluréd gasped. “The Oath!” 

“Wh-what?” Elurín stammered. He did not want to think of _that._

“What you said, Elurín: maybe we were sent here for a reason!” Excitement laced his brother’s words. “Fëanor and his sons have not yet sworn the Oath. Maybe we could change things – for the better!”

“You mean we could stop them from swearing it?” Elurín asked, eyes widening at the enormity of the idea. “We could stop the Kinslaying at Alqualondë?”

“Yes! Maybe even the other two!” Eluréd paced back and forth, his strides long and quick. “Why did we not think of this before? If we could do all this – stop them from leaving –”

Elurín could hardly believe it. Changing history … It all seemed too good to be true. If they did certain things now, the outcome would shift in Valinor. Maybe even in Beleriand …

He froze. _Beleriand._ The arrival of the Noldor, the intermingling of Elven clans and of the Secondborn … It would all change, would it not?

“If we stopped them from leaving,” he said, barely louder than a breath, “Adar will not go.”

Eluréd paused. “What do you mean?”

“He will not go to Beleriand,” Elurín said, a little louder. “And we will never meet him.”

Eluréd stared at him, speechless.

Birds fluttered overhead, chirping in the distance. Laurelin’s waxing light fell on Elurín’s head, but he could not feel its warmth. There was only a coldness, both within and without. He thought of the snow in the forest, falling all around him, numbing him to the bone.

“Eluréd,” he said desperately, “I do not want to miss Adar.”

“Maybe – there must be a way to still see him,” Eluréd said, now back to pacing with near-frantic energy. “If we allow _some_ things to happen, but change _other_ things … There should be something we can do.”

Elurín wracked his mind, but no ideas turned up. How could they control history in such a way? There was just too much to consider! To ensure that Maedhros arrived in Beleriand meant that the Silmarils must be stolen. And that meant the swearing of Fëanor’s Oath. And _that_ meant the Kinslaying at Alqualondë.

“I do not know if it is possible,” Elurín said, wringing his hands.

Eluréd came to a stop, exhaling in frustration. “I cannot think of anything, either. _Valar!”_

Elurín tried to hold back a whimper. If his brother could think of nothing – his brother, who almost always had a solution for everything – then what would they do?

For what felt like the umpteenth time, Elurín wished he was back in Amon Ereb with Adar Maedhros.

“Maybe we can ask the Valar about this,” Eluréd suggested after a moment. “They would help us.”

“You really think so?” Elurín asked. “But how will we get there? People will get suspicious if we ask them for a ride to Tirion …”

“I do not know how else we are to go about this,” Eluréd said. “It is as you said. How can we keep some events while changing others? It is – impossible.”

Elurín struggled to comprehend. _Impossible_ ? He was saying it was impossible _now,_ when just a moment ago he had thought otherwise?

“No,” Elurín whispered. “No, there must be a way.” 

Silence fell upon them, filled only by the soft rustle of branches and the whispering gust of fresh air. It all felt surreal.

Eluréd sighed into the quiet, and it was such a weary, heartfelt sigh that Elurín’s heart seized in his chest.

“Elurín,” he said quietly, eyes glistening. “If this was why we were sent here … If this is our chance to change things, then we will have to do it. We will not meet Adar in the future.”

Elurín’s lower lip trembled. _No,_ he cried, from the deepest wells of his very fëa. _No._

“You said –” His voice broke, and he fought to patch it together again. “You said there must be a way. You do not want to lose Adar, do you?”

“Of course I do not!” Eluréd exclaimed. “But if we could change things for the better, then that will make all this worth it, will it not?”

Elurín sucked in a shaky breath. He did not want to think about that. He wanted to – he wanted –

“Adar,” he whispered. “I want to see Adar.”

“Think of it this way,” Eluréd said in a low, placating tone. “If we are not sent back home, we will stay here, with Maitimo! We can keep watch, keep him safe, make sure he is not hurt, or any of the others. He will still be our Adar.”

A wave of cold passed over Elurín at his brother’s words. He shook from head to toe, and he could not stop himself. “No.”

“Elurín –”

_“No!”_ Elurín cried, startling them both. “He – Maitimo is _not_ our Adar.”

Eluréd blinked at him in shock. “What do you mean?”

“Our Adar,” Elurín said, voice trembling, “is maimed. I want the one with only one hand and many scars upon his face. He, at least, does not lie to us! He would never lie to us!”

Hot tears fell upon his cheeks. All his feelings on the matter, bottled up and tucked away inside, came undone. For all that Elurín had tried to contain it, believing that Maitimo was still their Adar of a different time, it seemed that he was not strong enough to do this one simple thing.

“He did hide from us what happened to our parents,” Eluréd pointed out, but in a murmur.

“That was not lying!” Elurín insisted. “That was _hiding._ There is a difference.”

Eluréd’s expression darkened. “There is no difference in how bad it was.”

“But this feels worse!” Elurín wanted to shake his brother. How could he not understand? “This – Maitimo, he does not love us.”

Eluréd stared at him, his gaze hardening. Elurín knew he did not like being reminded of it.

“Why should he when he does not know us?” his brother asked. “There is still a possibility. If we are trapped here, we can at least get to know him, maybe become his sons again –”

“That is why I want to go home!” Elurín cried, unable to stem the sobs. “I do not want to stay here anymore. It is too peaceful, too happy, too good to be real. And if we change everything, we change Maitimo! We will not know him as we did before. He will be _different._

“Our Adar –” his voice broke with such forceful emphasis, “has _one_ hand. Do you hear me, brother? _One!_ And when he speaks, his voice is rough but real. He holds us and strokes our hair and kisses our faces, and he calls us his Elin Gelebrin. We are no one’s stars here. You are Hrávelen and I am Lindelen, but that means nothing!”

“You are being selfish!” Eluréd snapped, and Elurín gasped as though his brother had struck him.

“You are telling me you want Maitimo to go through all that he did – the torture in Angband, the loss of his hand, all the wars and Kinslayings and deaths of his kin – just so you can be with _Adar?_ You do not care about the pain he keeps inside! You just want the world to be left as it is, just so you can be comforted!”

Sobs racked Elurín’s chest, cutting through his words. “No, I – I d-did not m-mean it like that!” His voice grew thick, breaking again, and again. “I-I only m-meant – I miss h-him!”

Eluréd’s eyes bored into Elurín’s, blazing with silver fire. “I miss him too,” he said, “but I do not want everybody to die for it!”

Elurín wept, shrinking away from his brother. What else was there to do? He could only stand there and cry like the useless child he was.

Eluréd was right. Elurín was a horrible, _horrible_ foster-son. He should not have said anything at all! Why could he not keep these thoughts within himself, locked away? He would not blame his brother or Maitimo for hating him now.

Eluréd watched him, waiting. Elurín took a few gulping breaths, and, steeling himself, opened his mouth to speak.

And then he heard barking in the distance.

* * *

Huan loped through the trees. Maitimo urged his horse forward, following the hound at a steady pace. The twins had gone far into the hunting grounds of Formenos, past the fortress’ square and sporting fields. He was not terribly afraid for their safety; there was not much to fear in these forests unless one had an aversion for stags, rabbits, and other game.

But why did the children run here?

Up ahead, Huan halted near a particularly large trunk, and set his front paws upon it, turning his nose up to the canopy. Maedhros brought his steed to a stop and looked up.

Something rustled in the branches, some twenty feet above. Maitimo might have missed the source of the movement, if not for the few strands of silver-white hair that drifted in the breeze.

Ah. So the children were climbers, not so unlike the Ambarussat in their youth. Maitimo dismounted and stepped up to the tree, keeping his eye on the gleam of white.

“Boys?” he called.

Two little faces peered out from between the branches. Their eyes widened in surprise.

“Will you come down?” Maitimo asked. “I want to talk with you.”

The children exchanged glances. Maitimo could not make out their expressions. Then one of them spoke – Hrávelen, Maitimo realized. “Are you mad at us?”

“No,” Maitimo replied. His gut twisted at their words. “Is that what you were worried about? That I would be angry with you?”

The other twin, Lindelen, looked away.

“Why are you up in the tree?” Maitimo asked.

A pause. “We heard barking,” Hrávelen explained. “We thought it was – Lord Turcafinwë.”

Maitimo swallowed, cursing himself once again. “He is not here now. It is only myself and Huan. There is no need to fear.”

A few leaves fluttered about his head and fell to the forest floor.

“Will you come down?” Maitimo asked. “It will be easier to talk with you then. My neck aches already!”

He spoke in jest, hoping to put them at ease. A heartbeat passed, then another, and then the branches rustled as the children began their descent. Maitimo kept his position under them, keeping track of their progress lest they slip and fall, yet they came to no harm. They were soon standing before him, huddling together, with Lindelen standing partly behind his brother. His eyes were … bloodshot. Maitimo’s brow furrowed; did something happen?

And now that he looked closer … The both of them stood farther from him than before. Always they stood at his side, but now they were more than five feet away. 

“Are you alright?” he asked gently.

Both Hrávelen and Lindelen nodded, though Maitimo was not convinced. And neither, it seemed, was Huan. The hound came forward and sniffed at the children, bestowing gentle licks upon their faces, even snuffling at Lindelen’s tear-stained cheeks. Lindelen managed a watery smile.

With Huan now sitting at their side, the children appeared more at ease, a little braver.

“Listen, I am not angry with you,” Maitimo said gently. “You have my word. It takes a lot to anger me.”

He took a step forward and knelt before them. “You spoke with Tyelkormo, yes? What did he say to you?”

Hrávelen regarded him for a moment, as though debating on whether to tell him or not. Maitimo waited. He would take the time for them as he had not in Fëanáro’s house. Here, in the quiet of the forest, he would give his full attention to them.

“He spoke harshly,” Hrávelen said eventually, his voice quiet. “But I feel that there is some truth to his words.”

“We,” Lindelen corrected, so soft that Maitimo nearly missed it. _“We_ feel.”

“What did he say?” Maitimo asked gently.

Hrávelen told him. By the time he was finished, anger boiled low within Maitimo. Not at the twins, but at his stubborn brother, and even at himself. Even if some of the words were true, what right did Tyelkormo have to speak them, and in so crude a fashion?

Maitimo kept his face clear of fury. The children did not need to see it.

“It is true, yes?” Hrávelen asked, looking wearier than Maitimo had ever seen. “We are a burden to you.”

Maitimo held his pale gaze. “No,” he said. “You are not.”

Lindelen looked up at him then, his face caught in the bright light of Laurelin, and Maitimo suddenly thought of his vision from the Silmaril.

“You,” Lindelen said slowly, his voice thick, “are _lying._ If we are burdens, you need only tell us, and we will stay away.”

Maitimo’s heart skipped a beat to see the sense of _knowing_ in the child’s gaze. The odd feeling rose up within him at that moment, and he tried to push it away, to no avail.

“I could never say such a thing to you,” he said in a hard tone. “What makes you think I can? You are only children!”

Hrávelen narrowed his eyes at him. 

“Whether he is wrong or right does not matter,” Maitimo continued. “He should not have spoken to you in such a way, and I am sorry that you had to hear it.”

The children said nothing, but Maitimo could sense the hesitancy around them. He took a deep breath; this next part would not be easy, but he must do it before they returned to Fëanáro’s house.

“Boys, I must ask you something,” he said, “and I need you to answer truthfully.”

The children stiffened, watching him with a wary air.

“Who are you truly, and where do you come from?”

To Maitimo’s surprise, it was Lindelen who responded. “We cannot tell you,” he mumbled. “We cannot remember.”

Maitimo frowned. “You told me you have no family. You wandered, and then you were lost.”

“Yes. But we cannot remember anything before then,” Lindelen said, a little clearer. Hrávelen’s expression was completely neutral.

Was that really the truth? Maitimo could not say. Frustration itched in his chest.

“That will not be good enough for my father,” he warned them. “When you return, he will want to know the truth if you are to stay with us.”

“What hope do we have of staying after this?” Hrávelen asked.

“If you cannot give the truth to my father, you will have to enter a new household.”

“You do not believe us?” Hrávelen demanded. “What are we to tell him if we cannot remember our own past?”

“Let me ask you this then,” Maitimo said, “for my father has already begun to suspect it. Are you spies of Melkor?”

The blood drained from both children's faces. “No!” they cried in unity, and with such vehemence that Maitimo was nearly thrown off-balance.

“How could you ask that of us?” Hrávelen exclaimed in disbelief. “You really think – spies of _Melkor_ –?”

Lindelen could only stare at Maitimo. A look of deep hurt burned on his face, and Maitimo swallowed back a sliver of guilt.

“Listen,” he said. “I do not believe that you are spies. I never thought you were. My father is only concerned with our people's safety. It was not so long ago that Melkor appeared to us, eager to buy my father’s trust.”

Hrávelen and Lindelen glanced at each other. “That is … understandable,” Hrávelen said reluctantly.

Maitimo sighed heavily. This was going to get complicated once they returned home. He stood and held out both hands to them. “Come. My father is waiting for us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whelp, looks like the twins are gonna play the amnesia card XD It is based upon a truth though, since they can't remember the Kinslaying's events.  
> But at least they've had their revelation! Next up, confronting the Feanorians ...
> 
> Originally, Maitimo's section was part of the following chapter, but I decided to move it here so fill out this chapter a bit more.
> 
> Your comments and kudos are all greatly appreciated! <33


	16. Remembrance

Fëanáro was indeed waiting for them when they reached the entrance hall. Finwë was there as well, along with all of Maitimo’s brothers, and even Mastaro. At this point, all of them save Carnistir and Curufinwë were familiar with the children, if only by sight. Maitimo swallowed imperceptibly; the children kept close to him, staring at the gathering with wide eyes.

Huan went over to Tyelkormo and sat at his feet. Tyelkormo’s frown did not lessen.

Finwë’s gaze settled heavily upon the children. Yet he said nothing; Fëanáro stepped forward instead, fixing the children with a sharp eye.

“You have caused quite the ruckus indeed.”

Hrávelen and Lindelen lowered their heads in something akin to shame.

“I have half a mind to send you two away immediately,” Fëanáro continued. “If you want to stay, you will tell me the truth. Where do you hail from?”

A few heartbeats passed before Hrávelen finally spoke. “We … we cannot. We do not remember.”

Maitimo glanced around at his brothers. They muttered to each other, casting unimpressed looks in the children’s direction – mostly Tyelkormo and Curufinwë. Makalaurë and the Ambarussat seemed more uncertain. Carnistir looked on with an air of detached interest.

“You think I will believe that?” Fëanáro asked in a hard tone.

“It is true!” Hrávelen exclaimed, desperation cracking through his words. “There are some things we cannot remember. Our home …”

“That is not good enough!” Fëanáro snapped.

In a surge of protectiveness, Maitimo moved forward to face his father. “Atar,” he said, “they bear no ill-will. They have no connection to Melkor.”

“You have no proof of that,” his father said in a low voice.

“Let the children speak!” Finwë said sternly, startling Maitimo. “I want to hear what they have to say.”

Maitimo glanced at the children. Hrávelen’s hands trembled, and Lindelen’s eyes shone with fear. Part of him wanted to defend the children, and yet … He also wanted to know the truth.

He glanced at Finwë. There was an odd look on his grandfather’s face, an uncertainty that Maitimo had never seen before.

“I do not know what else to say,” Hrávelen said, voice shaking. “I have already told you. We cannot remember our home, or how we came to be here.”

Fëanáro scowled but said nothing.

“They cannot be from around here,” Curufinwë mused. “No Elf in Valinor has such an appearance as they.”

“Are you _sure_ they do not hail from Alqualondë?” Ambarussa asked, to no one in particular. Unease shone in his eyes, though Maitimo did not know why.

“All this trouble over two children,” Tyelkormo said. “Atar, perhaps we ought to send them away in any case. None of us have the time to deal with them.”

Tears leaked from Lindelen’s eyes, streaming down his cheeks, shining like silver droplets in Laurelin’s light. 

Before Maitimo could say anything, either to rebuke Tyelkormo or comfort Lindelen, Finwë swept forward in a flurry of heavy robes and knelt before the children.

“There now, little one,” he said gently. “Do not mind them.” He reached up to wipe Lindelen’s tear away; Lindelen stiffened but did not shrink away. He gazed at Finwë as though he had never expected to see him up close.

“Perhaps,” Finwë began after a moment, drawing all their attention, “they are not from Valinor.”

“What do you mean?” Fëanáro asked, voicing Maitimo’s thoughts.

Finwë took a deep breath. “Perhaps they come from across the sea.”

All of them stared at Finwë in shock. _Across the sea._ A land to the east that Maitimo had never seen. He only knew it from the stories that Finwë told him: a land lit by starlight, but full of dangerous shadows. And Finwë thought the children came from there?

“But – how?” Maitimo asked.

Finwë looked up at him, then back at the children. His gaze softened considerably. “They look like Elwë. Their face, their eyes, their silver-white hair … They look so much like him and his people.”

Fëanáro’s frown deepened. “Then that begs the question – how did they cross the sea?”

Finwë laid a hand on Hrávelen’s shoulder. “Do you know of Beleriand?” he asked the child. “Of the forests and lakes there?”

Hrávelen and Lindelen exchanged uneasy glances. “My lord, I …” Hrávelen began.

“Why not go to the Valar?” Ambarto asked suddenly.

They all turned to him. Ambarto blushed faintly, but he continued, “Surely they will know the answer. Manwë and Varda could find their family if they truly came from over the sea.”

“You think the Valar will give us an audience?” Fëanáro demanded.

Ambarto’s face flushed deeper. “Perhaps not us,” he murmured. “But our messengers.”

“The Valar will not suffer to see any of us. Nor will I let them deal with our matters. The last time we let them, what did they do?”

 _Nothing_ was the proper answer. Even Maitimo felt that the Valar could have handled things better, though he still asked himself _how._

“Fëanáro, this is a different matter,” Finwë said in a hardened tone. “If the children remember nothing, how can we help them?”

“My lord …” Hrávelen whispered.

Finwë turned back to him, kindly once again. “Yes, child?”

“What will happen if – if we do go to the Valar? Will we be taken away?”

Finwë frowned. “Did you want to stay? Do you not wish to find your family?”

“We have no family,” Hrávelen murmured. “Not anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

“We – we lost them. We cannot remember how … But we came to this fortress because – we felt safe here.” Hrávelen lowered his gaze to the floor. “We wanted to stay.”

Finwë rubbed his chin in thought. “I see. If we went to the Valar, we could find your family, learn of what happened to them. You can stay with us in the meantime. What say you?”

The children hesitated. Then Lindelen nodded slowly, sniffling quietly. Hrávelen appeared surprised at his brother’s response, but nodded as well.

“There now,” Finwë said, standing. “We have our answer.”

“You do not plan on going to Taniquetil,” Fëanáro protested.

“Not myself,” Finwë said, fixing his son with a steady eye. _“You_ will, in a couple of days. The children wish to stay for a little longer, and that is no problem. When you go to Taniquetil, they can go with you, and you will bring them before Lord Manwë.”

Fëanáro pressed his lips in a thin line. “Before we bring the Valar into this,” he said slowly, “let us make our own investigations. Rest assured I will mention them to Manwë and ask for his aid –” Fëanáro scowled around his words. “But I would rather leave the children here than bring them to Taniquetil. Your other sons and their kin suspect me of much already.”

That was the best they would get from Fëanáro, that much Maitimo knew. Finwë seemed to recognize this as well, for he sighed but nodded. “We have an agreement then.”

Maitimo sighed imperceptibly with relief. The children would receive proper help. A sliver of guilt rankled in his chest; why must he feel glad that they were now off his hands?

The children soon departed with Mastaro. Maitimo watched them go even as his brothers dispersed, muttering to each other. He ignored them. The odd feeling was back, gently pressing him to follow the children as they left the hall, but he refused. This was no longer his matter to handle.

Or was it?

Makalaurë came to his side. “So we only have a few days with them now, if not more,” he mused. “That does not leave much time for lessons.”

“Speaking of lessons,” Maitimo said quietly, even though Finwë and Fëanáro had already left. “I am surprised you did not tell Atar of their … ability.”

Makalaurë glanced at Maitimo with a calculating eye. “I know when to avoid further upheaval, brother.”

“What if it proves to be a mistake?”

“You said it yourself. They are not spies of Melkor. Even I am certain of that.”

“How can you be?”

“It is something in their voices,” Makalaurë said thoughtfully. “Their music.”

Maitimo’s brow furrowed. His brother knew music better than any other, but was it enough in this case? And had he kept silent only to protect the children, or was it to satisfy his own curiosity about what they were capable of?

“Have you found anything else about their music-making?” Maitimo asked.

Makalaurë tilted his head, gazing off in the direction that the children took. “I have a feeling,” he said carefully, “that they will grow more powerful as they get older. Perhaps more than myself, even.”

“Perhaps it is good then that the Valar will intervene,” Maitimo replied, keeping his voice light.

Makalaurë pursed his lips. “I hope so. I would like to know more of those twins.”

Maitimo wished the same, and yet … Part of him could not help but worry about what they might find.

* * *

Mastaro did not yell at them. He did not frown or scold them, or turn them away.

Elurín felt that he should. Looking into Mastaro’s weary smile only deepened his guilt. He had caused so much trouble, and look at where it got them! He wanted to curl up in the corner of a dark room and never surface.

Yet he did not do that. Instead, they had lunch with Mastaro and Laiquehepar, and then Mastaro set them to their chores. His chest squeezed tight the entire time, but Elurín was determined not to cry, not out in the open. It would only cause more problems.

By the time evening rolled around, Elurín felt as though a weight pressed down on his entire being. He had no appetite to eat his dinner, but he did so anyway. Eluréd said nothing to him even as they dressed into nightgowns and got into bed.

Elurín lay there for a long moment, listening to his brother’s breathing as it grew shallow with sleep. Telperion’s waxing light filled the room with a soft glow through the drawn curtains. If Elurín closed his eyes, he might be able to imagine himself in Amon Ereb, but … Too many things were different. The bed’s mattress was too soft. The blankets were too light. The room’s smell was too clean, a little floral. It was nothing like Amon Ereb at all.

Could he get used to it if he and Eluréd were trapped here? Could he get used to it for Adar?

Elurín’s lower lip wobbled. He turned onto his side and pressed his face into the pillow. 

Eluréd’s words from earlier echoed in his mind, sharp as needles. He was right, was he not? Elurín _was_ selfish. He wanted the adar who was hurt and maimed – a Kinslayer. How could that be? How could Elurín want something so horrible for his adar? 

But he loved Adar. He loved Maedhros, the one who rescued him and Eluréd from the snow, raised them, and took care of them. Maedhros understood their pain. Maitimo did not.

In a way, Elurín did love Maitimo, but … it felt different. Backwards. Could he grow to love Maitimo in the same way as Adar Maedhros?

 _No,_ a voice whispered in his mind. _It will always feel different._

But he could not be sure of that! Maybe Eluréd was right. Maybe they would learn to love Maitimo as dearly as they did Adar Maedhros. Maybe Maitimo would eventually love them too.

Tears soaked into his pillow. As much as he wanted to believe it possible, he did not know what would happen between them. 

But he did know one thing for sure: he wanted Adar to be happy.

And for Adar to be happy, that meant changing things. No Oath, no Kinslayings, no Doom. Elurín would never meet him in their time if that happened. If he did, there would be no bond between them as there was now, for Elurín would still have Ada Dior and Nana Nimloth.

Elurín wept. Not only was he a horrible foster-son to Adar, he was also a horrible son to his true parents! He loved them, did he not? But how could he choose a Kinslayer over them? Over the possibility of being with them again?

 _Ada, Nana,_ he thought, weeping quietly. _I miss you._

And thus he fell into an uneasy sleep.

Elurín awoke to see a soft, golden light filling the room. It seemed like Laurelin’s light, but at the same time not. There was a blurriness to everything, a delicate fuzziness, as though Elurín looked through a veil of tears.

Was he still dreaming? He lay in bed, with the blankets up to his chin. Eluréd slept at his side, oblivious to all that went on around them. Elurín considered waking him, but decided against it.

The light flickered near the door, solidifying into a tall shape that moved closer to the bed. Elurín watched, and as the shape neared his side, his vision cleared enough for him to recognize who it was.

 _Adar,_ he said, _I love you. I will always remember you._

_But please … I want to see my ada._

Maedhros smiled gently; at least, Elurin thought he smiled, but he could not be sure. His adar’s image blurred, half-covered in light that made Elurín squint.

Then the shape reformed, and there stood a dark-haired Elf dressed in dark blue robes.

Elurín’s eyes burned with tears, blurring his dream even further. _Ada,_ he said in a small voice. _I am sorry._

Dior laid his hand on Elurín’s chest, right over his beating heart, and leaned down to kiss Elurín’s brow. Dior’s hair curtained Elurín on either side, blocking the light out entirely.

With Dior all around him, Elurín relaxed. His father’s embrace was pleasantly warm; for a heartbeat, he remembered long-ago times when he walked with Dior through Menegroth, holding his hand and laughing with him. His heart ached at the memory.

_I miss you._

Dior withdrew, brushing his fingers against Elurín’s cheek. Elurín felt an air of sadness around his ada, yet as he reached out to him, Dior turned to leave.

 _Ada, wait,_ Elurín whispered. _Don’t go. Please come back._

Dior disappeared, taking the light with him, and Elurín descended into darkness once again.

Elurín opened his eyes.

Laurelin’s light shone softly through the room. His eyes felt puffy; he reached up and felt a wetness on his cheek. The dream of Dior lingered in his mind, and he sucked in a shaky breath. If history was changed – in a good way, that is – at least he would be with Ada Dior and Nana Nimloth again.

Something shifted at his side. Elurín glanced over to see Eluréd wide awake. Eluréd avoided his gaze as they got out of bed and dressed for the day. No doubt he was still angry. 

Elurín bit his lip, hands trembling at his sides. He must say something. Even if Eluréd stayed upset at him for many days, at least he would know that Elurín repented.

Elurín took a deep breath, turned to face his brother, and said, “Eluréd?”

His voice came out smaller than he expected, but Eluréd looked at him. There was a wariness about him, as though he did not know what to expect.

“I am sorry,” Elurín burst out. “About everything. I do not want anyone to be hurt, or Ada and Nana, or Adar, or anybody. I should not have said all those terrible things.” His voice broke. “I am sorry.”

Eluréd’s eyes shone bright. When he finally spoke, his voice was hoarse. “I am sorry too. I should not have spoken so cruelly to you.”

“But you were right,” Elurín whispered. “I was selfish.”

“You were afraid.” Eluréd fiddled with the hem of his sleeve. “I should have seen that. I –”

Elurín surged forward and hugged him. Eluréd returned the embrace tightly, and they stood there for a long moment.

“We were both afraid,” Elurín murmured. “It is not your fault.”

“Nor is it yours.”

“Will you forgive me?”

“Of course. And will you forgive me?”

“I always will.”

Eluréd kissed Elurín’s temple, and Elurín felt a wave of peace wash over him.

“Eluréd,” Elurín said after a moment, still holding him. “I thought about what you said – about changing things. I think you are right. We must have been sent here to change things for the better.”

Eluréd withdrew somewhat to look at him. A serious gleam shone in his pale eyes. “Are you sure of this?”

“Yes,” Elurín said, as firmly as he could. “I – we must make things right. We must.”

Eluréd nodded decisively. He hugged Elurín again, and for this moment, Elurín felt that all would be well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops, the chapter total went down! That's because I merged two chapters when I found that the one I'm currently writing hardly had enough content to carry on its own XDD
> 
> Simply a point of interest, the title's chapter refers to Elurin remembering things, but also hearkens back to his name, "Remembrance of Elu (Thingol)."
> 
> Your comments and kudos are all greatly appreciated! <333


	17. Elurín's Song for Them

Elurín and Eluréd did not see Maitimo at all that day. It was just as well, Elurín thought. The thought of seeing Maitimo again, after all that happened, made him want to shrink away. Maitimo was not his adar. He knew this, but it did not lessen the dagger-like pain in his chest.

So he turned to other things. Mastaro set them a list of chores, and there was so much to do that Elurín and Eluréd did not get a chance to talk about how they might change the future.

“Boys, would you wash these dishes here?”

Elurín washed them and Eluréd dried them off.

“Boys, will you go with Laiquehepar to bring in the supplies?”

Elurín and Eluréd went, and they returned with packages to stock up the pantry.

“Boys, will you go with Laiquehepar to pick up the firewood?”

By late afternoon, Elurín and Eluréd returned to the kitchen, aching all over from running around to help. Perhaps Mastaro was keeping them busy to take their mind off of yesterday’s events. Whether that was true or not, it certainly worked. Elurín was too tired to dwell on the matters at hand.

Murmured voices caught his ear. Elurín looked up to see Mastaro standing at the kitchen entrance. Maitimo stood there also, speaking to him. Elurín’s heart seized in his chest. What was going on now?

Maitimo nodded to Mastaro and entered the kitchen, approaching the table where Elurín and Eluréd sat. He moved with purpose, but there was a quiet air about him, as though he did not want to startle them off.

Did Fëanáro change his mind? Would Elurín and Eluréd be cast out?

“Hrávelen,” Maitimo greeted them. “Lindelen. How are you?”

“Tired,” Eluréd replied quietly.

Maitimo offered a sympathetic smile. “I can imagine. Mastaro tells me you had a busy day.”

Elurín was not sure what to make of that. Why was Maitimo here if he had no true interest in them? _He must be here on an errand,_ Elurín mused.

“I have something to ask of you,” Maitimo began. “We are having a rather big feast tonight, and my grandfather, High King Finwë, has invited you to join us.”

Elurín stared at him. An invitation to dinner, and from Finwë, of all people! No doubt he wanted to see them up close again, to find out how much more of Thingol he could see in their faces.

Was it a good idea to accept, in that case? Elurín bit his lip. Finwë had struck close to home about their origins the other day. Part of Elurín wanted so much to tell him the truth. Finwë was Thingol’s dearest friend; surely he would want to know of what happened to him?

“We would be honoured to accept,” Eluréd said. He met Elurín’s startled gaze, and Elurín remained silent.

Maitimo smiled. “I am glad. And Kanafinwë will be, as well – he is playing for us afterwards, and he has told us much of your music-making.”

Oh, Elurín hoped that Makalaurë had not said _too_ much!

“We would love to hear you sing.”

Elurín’s heart burst into a frenzy. “Sing?” he squeaked.

“We – we are not that good, Maitimo!” Eluréd stammered.

Maitimo arched an eyebrow. “Oh? Kanafinwë believes you are very good.” His voice softened. “Have you sung to a group before?”

In front of Amon Ereb’s residents, yes. But not, Elurín thought, in front of Maitimo’s family! Fëanáro, and his seven sons, and King Finwë … 

As if guessing Elurín’s thoughts, Maitimo said, “Lord Finwë is also eager to hear you sing, but if you do not want to, we will understand.”

Most likely he spoke for himself and Finwë. Makalaurë would doubtlessly be disappointed if Elurín and Eluréd did not sing, and the Ambarussat too. And there were still the last three brothers to consider.

And Fëanáro! He would think them weak for sure. Elurín took a deep breath and said, “We can sing tonight. If you like.” 

Maitimo’s smile broadened. “That gives me something to look forward to! Now, Kanafinwë has his own suggestions for what you can sing, but I think you should have the choice.”

Elurín could sense his brother looking at him, even though they were both looking at Maitimo. Eluréd always said that Elurín had better taste in songs, especially for feast days and celebrations, and _especially_ because he remembered more songs than Eluréd did.

What should they sing tonight, though? A common song from Valinor sounded good. Nearly all of them had passed under Makalaurë’s hands, so he was bound to be pleased by Elurín’s choice no matter what. 

“I will bid you farewell for now, then,” Maitimo said, eyes gleaming. “Lirindiel will bring the appropriate clothes to you later.”

Elurín and Eluréd nodded, and with that, Maitimo departed from the kitchens.

Near immediately, Eluréd turned to Elurín. “Do you have a song in mind?”

“I am still thinking!” Elurín sagged onto the table, burying his face in his hands. “A song about the Trees, perhaps?”

Eluréd wrinkled his nose. “There must be a hundred of those already. Is there something more interesting?”

Elurín wracked his brains. “A song about the Valar?”

“Oh no, not those! Fëanáro will be at the feast!”

“Oooh,” Elurín groaned.

Laiquehepar came over to them and set a basket down on the table. “You are so lucky,” he mourned. “An evening with the lords!”

“Lucky, are we?” Eluréd grumbled.

“They may be frightening, but it is something else to hear them speak and sing,” Laiquehepar said. “I have only caught a few glimpses here and there.”

Elurín decided not to say that he thought Laquiehepar was the luckier one of them all.

Elurín did not find his answer until two hours before the feast. “Eluréd, I think I have one.”

His brother looked up eagerly. His hair hung damp from the bath, shining in Laurelin’s waxing light. Elurín shuffled forward and held up a leaf of parchment. He had written the lyrics down, as much as he could remember from his time in Amon Ereb.

Eluréd took the parchment and read the lyrics over. His silver brows furrowed halfway through.

“But Elurín, is this not from our lessons with Maglor?”

Elurín nodded. The song was part of an old assignment: Maglor had set them the task of writing a few verses in Quenya, not just to practice songwriting, but also for their Quenya lessons. Elurín had needed Eluréd’s help, given that Eluréd was getting better at the language then than he.

Eluréd gazed at the lyrics for a long moment, tracing the letters with his fingers. Memory gleamed in his eyes like the stars shining at night.

“If you do not like it,” Elurín began worriedly.

“No, I like it,” Eluréd said. “I think … It will not make them suspicious.”

“No,” Elurín agreed. “I thought about it beforehand, you see. Our family is gone, which is true. But we still remember them. At best, it will look like we are honouring them. And I also took out the more suggestive lyrics.”

Eluréd nodded, stood from his seat, and held up the parchment. “Shall we practice, then? I imagine you will want to take the melody. I will harmonize this time.”

Elurín beamed, relieved that his brother liked the choice and agreed to it. Perhaps the choice was not the best that Elurín made – a simple song from Valinor was the safest bet, of course – but this song settled rightly in Elurín’s heart, and he was not about to dislodge it.

Lirindiel arrived an hour later with a folded pile of light blue robes. She helped them dress and put silver slippers on their feet. Once she was satisfied, she led them out of their bedchamber and through the corridors to the dining hall.

Elurín’s heart pounded as they neared their destination. The wafting aroma of roast meat and savoury stew managed to ease him somewhat, but upon reaching the dining hall, Elurín’s stomach dropped.

All the lords sat at the table. Finwë, Fëanáro, Maitimo, Makalaurë, Tyelkormo, Carnistir, Curufinwë, and the Ambarussat – Ambarto and Ambarussa. They all sat there in one hall. All of them together, just as they had been in the entrance hall before. 

Elurín drew in a wheezing breath. Blood roared in his ears. His heart pounded in a mad rhythm, travelling up to his head, banging against his skull.

He felt Eluréd’s hand slip into his own, squeezing gently.

It was then that a voice whispered in Elurín’s mind, gruff with gentleness. A memory.

 _Breathe in, breathe out,_ Maedhros once said, holding Elurín close in his arms. _The darkness will not take you from here. I will not let it._

Lirindiel led them closer to the table. Fëanáro sat at the head, with Finwë and Maitimo on either side of him. Someone had placed an empty chair next to Finwë and Maitimo. Elurín’s mouth dried. He and Eluréd would not be sitting with each other.

“Here are the children, my lords,” Lirindiel said with a bow.

Finwë smiled warmly. “Thank you, my dear.”

Eluréd tugged on Elurín’s hand and drew closer to Finwë. “My lord,” he began, “thank you for inviting us. We are honoured by your graciousness.”

He bowed at the waist, and Elurín hastily followed his example.

Finwë chuckled. “We are glad to have you here.”

Elurín doubted that was so.

Eluréd bowed again and turned to Fëanáro. “And you, my lord,” he said. “Thank you for allowing us to stay. We are most grateful.”

Fëanáro’s stone-like expression did not change. “Choose your seat.”

Eluréd met Elurín’s eyes, and an understanding passed between them. Elurín remained at Finwë’s side while Eluréd went over to Maitimo; they both sat down, and the servants immediately brought out the dishes.

Elurín soon realized that the majority of those present fully ignored him and Eluréd. Maitimo’s brothers engaged in conversation with each other while Finwë and Fëanáro conversed. Elurín was not too bothered, in truth. At least there was no awkward silence! At least he was not the centre of attention!

He focused on eating his meal. There were many dishes to choose from: there was roast meat, cooked to perfection and still sizzling with butter; a cheese platter with several cheese slices that Elurín didn’t recognize, along with different types of bread slices; a big pot of savoury stew that smelled of creamy mushrooms; a wide bowl of mixed greens and crushed nuts; and a chicken-and-pea pie.

By the time the servants brought out dessert, Elurín was so stuffed of mushroom soup and pie. But he dearly wanted to try the desserts! Were those sweet cakes? And were _those_ flaky pastries full of cream?

“How was your meal, Lindelen?”

Elurín looked up at Finwë, heart racing. “It – it is delicious. Thank you, my lord.”

Finwë smiled kindly, his eyes crinkling at the edges. For a moment, he looked so much like Maedhros when the latter smiled truly. Elurín’s heart twisted uncomfortably.

“I am told that you came here not a week ago,” Finwë said. “I trust your stay here was well?”

“Yes,” Elurín said quietly. “Mastaro is very kind to us. And … Maitimo, as well.”

“Indeed … Lindelen, I am sorry for yesterday’s meeting. I know that it was upsetting for you, and I hope you can forgive the hard words that were spoken.”

Elurín blinked at him in surprise. “Oh – it is alright, my lord.” He did not know what else to say. What do you say to the High King of the Noldor of whom you only heard stories of?

Before Elurín could even think to say more, Makalaurë left his seat and glided over to the large harp nearby. He then sat down and positioned his hands against the harp strings, and began to play.

Makalaurë’s music swept throughout the hall, dancing over their heads and flitting past their ears. A vision swam before Elurín’s eyes: a waterfall cascading down the side of the Pelóri Mountains, their snow-capped peaks glittering in the morning.

Elurín put up his guard after a moment, and the vision grew faint, transparent. He did not have the appetite or mood to see Makalaurë’s visions in full. Elurín felt oddly heavy all of a sudden, weighed down both in body and heart. Had he truly picked the right song to sing? What if everybody mocked it afterwards?

He ought to have chosen something generic. A song about the Two Trees, perhaps. Then his lyrics would be kept safe in his heart.

Oh, but Elurín missed his home. His heart would surely burst soon if he did not do something to release the homesickness.

Warm applause met the end of Makalaurë’s playing. “Marvelous as always, dear,” Finwë said, his joy the most genuine of them all.

“You never cease to amaze,” Maitimo offered. He too shared Finwë’s delight, though more measured.

Everyone else, from what Elurín could see, seemed pleased by the music. Yet they also bore an air of having heard this style of music a hundred times over, which no doubt they had.

Makalaurë stood from his seat, tall with pride. “And now,” he said, “I believe it is time for my students to take their turn.”

Elurín drew in a trembling breath. He felt a light hand on his shoulder – Finwë’s hand. He thought he heard Finwë’s voice, but it was muffled to his ears. 

Across the table from him, Eluréd stood up. Elurín hurriedly did the same and went around the table to Eluréd’s side. His hands shook as they approached the large harp. What if his voice cracked? What if he suddenly blanked and forgot all his lyrics?

“What song have you chosen?” Makalaurë asked. “I will accompany you on the harp.”

Eluréd shook his head. “You are gracious, my lord, but I think I will do the accompanying.”

Makalaurë arched an eyebrow. “Oh? What about your song?”

“I have my own composition,” Elurín offered. “Hrávelen knows it.”

Behind him at the table, he heard Tyelkormo mutter something. Soft chuckling followed. _They are laughing at me,_ Elurín thought glumly, his face heating.

“That is even better!” Finwë said brightly, and the chuckling stopped. “What is your song about, Lindelen?”

Elurín took his place at the front of the harp, facing the table. “It is about our family,” he said quietly. “Mine and Hrávelen’s, I mean. What I remember about them.”

Finwë’s smile faltered. To the rest of their credit, none of Fëanáro’s sons muttered or whispered. Fëanáro himself gazed at Elurín with an unfathomable expression. But Elurín looked to Maitimo out of them all.

Something grey and pained shone in Maitimo’s eyes, but he did not break away from Elurín’s gaze.

Makalaurë said nothing more; he took his seat at the table and set his sculpted chin upon one hand, watching unblinkingly. Elurín swallowed hard, suddenly aware of all these lords that sat before them, waiting for a performance.

But Elurín did not feel like a musician before an audience. He felt more like a rusted attraction before an impassive crowd.

“Are you ready?” Eluréd whispered.

Elurín nodded and cleared his throat. Eluréd, standing on the other side of the harp, plucked at the strings. The liquid notes hummed low and clear in Elurín’s ears, and as Eluréd led into the main melody, Elurín began to sing.

His voice was soft and light, cultivated from his lessons with Maglor in Amon Ereb. Eluréd harmonized with him, slightly softer, but enough so that their voices blended well.

_I see my mother’s face so clear,_

_Her hair as silk_

_So long and fair._

_She dances swift upon the floor,_

_Adorned in cloth and jewels bright._

_Dear Mother, says I, fly you free!_

_With graceful might and majesty!_

_Within the sky,_

_By day and night,_

_Until you’ve gone beyond our sight._

_My nana,_ Elurín thought. _Are you well? Are you at peace?_

His body moved naturally with the music, slightly swaying back and forth, hands fluttering in the air with each sweep of the melody.

_My sister stands upon a hill;_

_Below her storms the sea at will._

_Her feet are bare,_

_Her cloak is white,_

_Her laugh a sound of great delight._

_Within my arms she used to fit_

_Until she grew from year to year._

_And yet remains_

_Throughout it all_

_A little bird, my sister dear._

Elurín’s chest throbbed with pain. _Dear Elwing,_ he thought. _I hope you are well and safe._

The harp’s flurrying notes danced around his voice, filling the hall.

_My father walks across the grass,_

_A-crowned with beauty,_

_Armed with strength,_

_His hair all woven through with gems._

_But in his eyes,_

_So soft and sad,_

_Are memories of better days._

_I see the glade within his gaze:_

_All lush and green, and dotted white,_

_With dancing feet_

_And trailing hair._

_Tears were not unnumbered there,_

_But still he wept_

_For what would come._

Elurín’s voice grew louder, turning into a cry as he remembered Dior, both from memory and from his dream. His hands swept through the air, opening and clenching, demanding a reason for all the pain.

_And there I cried with silver tears_

_For loss of gentle hands that touched_

_My face and heart_

_With tenderness._

_I miss him so, I miss him so!_

His cry cut through the hall with that last line, clear and shimmering, letting the final note hover and fade. A current of energy passed from his throat and blew into the air, ruffling his hair and robe.

The fire leapt in a nearby hearth. The torches flared with light upon the walls, sending a flurry of sparks up to the ceiling.

Elurín breathed deeply and slowly lowered his hands. The harp was silent at his side.

It was done. The song was over.

He looked up at the table to find the lords staring at him, all with varying degrees of awe and disbelief. It was then that he became aware of the thickening silence that spread through the dining hall. His heart skipped a beat; had his voice sounded bad?

It was Maitimo who began the applause. Finwë quickly picked it up, then the Ambarussat, and Makalaurë, and the rest of the lords. Even Huan, who lay at the feet of Tyelkormo’s chair, wagged his tail eagerly.

“Beautiful!” Finwë exclaimed. “Such exquisite voices! Makalaurë, you said you taught them?”

“I only built upon their skill,” Makalaurë replied. “They were excellent already when they first came to me.”

“I can vouch for that,” Maitimo said. His eyes gleamed with an odd emotion as he gazed at Elurín and Eluréd. “That was wonderful, boys!”

Elurín’s mouth twisted, and he hastily bowed to hide it. He ought to be happy with Maitimo’s praise, but he only felt very guilty, and very, very sad.

_Oh, Ada dear, I miss you so!_

“But that is not the end of the song, is it?” Ambarussa asked. 

“It was so sorrowful,” Ambarto agreed. “Lindelen, is there not another verse?”

“No,” Elurín said quietly. It was a lie, but they did not need to know that. The rest of the lyrics were too dangerous. “No, that is all.”

“We cannot leave your song in grief, my little snow-cap,” Makalaurë said. “Come, shall I make a final verse for you?”

Something flared in Elurín’s chest. “No! The song is finished as it is.”

Tyelkormo snorted. Curufinwë leaned over to whisper in his ear. Elurín’s fists clenched as he glanced at them, all of them.

_If you wanted my song to be happy, you should not have slaughtered Ada and Nana, and all our people._

At that moment, Elurín hated the lords who sat before him.

Perhaps it was irrational of him, especially with regard to Ambarto. But Ambarussa took part in it! And Carnistir, and cruel Curufinwë, and horrid Tyelkormo who wanted to force Grandmother into marriage! 

Makalaurë did not escape Elurín’s flare of anger, and neither did Maitimo. And Fëanáro, he who swore the Oath – yes, Elurín hated him too!

Even kind-hearted Finwë took a piece. He who followed his heart but did not answer his young son’s cry of pain.

The moment passed in several heartbeats. Elurín stood there, suddenly awash with fresh guilt. Exhaustion crept over his body and heart. He was not used to such anger and hatred. He was too small for all that, and it frustrated him. If only he could be strong enough to hold it, keep it in check!

But no, his Doom had decided that he would have a weak heart.

Eluréd appeared at his side and took his hand. Looking into his brother’s eyes, Elurín saw his own sadness mirrored there, and felt a little less lonely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did y'all think at first that Elurin's song was about Maedhros? XDD Also, his song does have more lyrics, but I cut them out because they refer to the Kinslaying (and Maedhros), which is not a good idea at this time ^^;;
> 
> For those of you interested, I imagine the twins to sound like AURORA when she sings (and dances lol): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fn_6i7Wed-c
> 
> I don't have a melody in mind for Elurin's song, but I imagine it would sound something like this: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RQgXY07sz8Q
> 
> I think it wouldn't hurt to add the rest of Elurin's lyrics here!
> 
> _For they were taken far from me!  
>  By Doom set down by ancient ones!  
> I cannot speak;  
> My ire rears!  
> It twists my throat and steals my words  
> Until my strength is all but spent,  
> And nothing can I say or do,  
> For it is all beyond my hands._
> 
> _But still –  
>  But still –  
> I miss them so!_
> 
> _A thousand caves within my heart!  
>  So safe they were, until that night  
> When flame was taken to their walls.  
> I burned within  
> Until the end  
> When ash I was, all weak and grey,  
> And nowhere could I find the day._
> 
> _I cried for them, but in their stead  
>  He came to take us far away,  
> To raise us well  
> With single hand  
> All bruised and beaten, scarred and worn.  
> A different face that I should hate,  
> And yet I grew to love him deep._
> 
> _A thousand words you would have said!  
>  If not for me, then who instead? _
> 
> Your comments and kudos are greatly appreciated! <33


	18. Running With Huan

When Elurín showed the first signs of exhaustion – hiding a yawn behind his hand – Finwë immediately turned to him.

“Are you tired, young one? It is getting late; Lirindiel will see you off to bed.”

“Oh – I am alright,” Elurín began weakly, but Finwë glanced up, and Lirindiel appeared out of nowhere at his silent summons.

Elurín sighed quietly, but in truth he was glad. The food had settled comfortably in his stomach by this time, and the warmth of the hall surrounded him, muddling his head. His eyelids fluttered, feeling oddly heavy. Singing had taken quite a bit out of him.

He stood from his seat and bowed to Finwë. “Have a goodnight, my lord,” he said politely, then turned to Fëanáro. “And you too, my lord. Thank you again for having us.” His heart quickened despite his exhaustion; even his need for sleep was overcome by the High Prince’s presence.

Fëanáro made a small, dismissive gesture with his hand. His eyes were not kind, but not unkind either. Elurín bowed again and hurried around the table to Eluréd’s side, and together with Lirindiel they made their way towards the door.

As they went, Elurín thought he heard Finwë’s murmuring voice. “Are you prepared for tomorrow?”

“Yes,” Fëanáro replied quietly. “I shall leave early. And yes – I will not forget to ask about the children.”

Elurín blinked rapidly, trying to push the sleep away. Did he truly hear all of that, or was it just a trick of his tired mind? He glanced at Eluréd and saw his own surprise mirrored in his brother’s eyes. He had not imagined it.

Fëanáro was leaving _tomorrow_ for the festival! How long did it take to travel to Taniquetil? How much longer did Elurín and Eluréd have to stay here? To plan their movements in changing the future?

Once they were alone in their bedchamber, Eluréd spoke immediately, quick with urgency. “We must think of a plan. Truly this time.”

Elurín rubbed his eyes to clear them of sleepiness. His stomach churned uncomfortably in his anxiousness, making him wince. Perhaps he should not have eaten as much as he did.

“Fëanáro will not take us yet,” Eluréd murmured, now pacing the room. “We still have some time …”

“Eluréd,” Elurín said suddenly, a wave of cold washing over him. “The Two Trees will be destroyed during the festival, yes? And – and Morgoth will come here.”

Eluréd’s eyes widened. Fear shone in his eyes, bright and chilling. “He will take the Silmarils,” he breathed. “And kill Finwë.”

Elurín shivered. Everything was moving quickly, _far_ too quickly. “Then all we need to do is take the Silmarils somewhere else,” he reasoned, half in desperation, his heart pounding fast against his ribs. He never imagined coming across the Dark Vala one day. Even now, he still could not imagine it. He did not want to.

“What if we took the Silmarils and followed Fëanáro to Taniquetil?” Eluréd suggested. “We could go to the Valar ourselves.”

“We could,” Elurín said hesitantly. “But … if Morgoth sees that the Jewels are not here, what if he takes Fëanáro’s sons instead?”

Eluréd blinked. “Oh. I did not think of that. I suppose we could – we could lead Morgoth away.”

The idea sounded so ludicrous to Elurín’s ears that he might have laughed if he was not so afraid. He and his brother, two small children, lead the Dark Vala away and hope that he would not kill them?

“If we went to the Valar, it might be too late.” Eluréd scratched his head, scowling in frustration. “Damn! I can think of nothing.”

Elurín took a deep breath, trying not to descend into panic again. _One step at a time._ “I think we should look for the Silmarils. We need to know where they are first before we can take them.”

Eluréd paused. “I think … Adar said that they were kept in the armoury. But he did not say where the armoury was.”

“Surely it is in this house,” Elurín said. “We ought to look for it.”

Eluréd nodded in agreement. “Yes. Tonight, once everybody is asleep.”

They had snuck around the fortress at Amon Ereb, years before, while the Fëanorians slept. Eluréd enjoyed those little adventures more than Elurín – though now Elurín looked back on them with fondness. Yet things always changed for them whenever Maedhros woke and stalked the corridors.

They had to plan their routes accordingly, avoiding their adar so he would not catch them and interrupt their adventuring. It was during those moments that Elurín wished they had never left their bedchamber to explore the fortress, though Maedhros never grew mad at them, only stern.

Would it be the same here, in Fëanáro’s house? Who patrolled the corridors? The guards? The servants? Maybe Fëanáro or his sons?

He and Eluréd would find out soon enough.

It was near the Trees' equivalent of midnight when Elurín and Eluréd slipped out into the corridor. It was not dark, not like those corridors in Amon Ereb, given that Telperion’s light streamed through any outside-facing windows they came across. 

The armoury. Where in the world was it? Underground? Beyond Fëanáro’s house? Was it even in Formenos at all? Elurín could not help but wonder after an hour passed, then two, still with no results.

“I think we might not find it tonight,” Elurín whispered, halfway through their third hour of searching.

Eluréd sighed. “Adar’s fortress was easier to explore.”

Elurín was not so sure about that, but in hindsight, it did feel that way. “Maybe we could ask around tomorrow? Laiquehepar might know, or Mastaro!”

“That seems best,” his brother agreed. “Now we just need to retrace our steps …”

It was easier said than done. Elurín could not tell one corridor from the other. “Are we lost?”

“Not until I say so,” Eluréd said firmly. “I refuse to fail twice in this outing!”

They crept along the corridor, keeping a lookout for any familiar landmarks to help them get unlost. Elurín’s heart hammered against his ribs with each small noise – was someone following them? A servant? One of the Fëanorians? Oh, if only they had a map!

Something sniffed behind them, and Elurín leapt a foot into the air, biting back a squeal. Both he and Eluréd spun around to see –

Huan.

“Oh!” Eluréd sighed in relief. “It is just you.”

The hound sat there like a pillar of ivory, as tall as Elurín and Eluréd. Reading his face was hard; how did one know what a dog was thinking? But – if Huan was here, did that mean Tyelkormo stood nearby? Elurín trembled at the thought. What if they got caught?

“Where is your master?” he whispered.

Huan tilted his head once from side to side, as though listening closely.

“So he is not here?” Eluréd asked, eyes wide.

Huan’s tail thumped upon the stone floor.

Elurín clutched at his chest, breathing slowly to calm his heart. When this was all over, he planned to have a good rest with indulgence in all his favourite hobbies!

Huan stood and stepped over to him. His wet nose brushed against Elurín’s cheek. Was that a kiss? Elurín had once been afraid of the dogs at Amon Ereb – big hunting dogs that bit and snarled. But with Amras’ direction, Elurín learned not to fear them. The dogs were rough with each other because they played. They only snarled at Orcs and other bad things. They did not bite their masters or their masters’ friends; they licked Elurín’s hand and let him rub their wool-like flanks.

Elurín reached out to touch Huan’s shoulder. The hound let him, tail wagging all the while. His fur was clean and soft, with a woolly consistency, but not as much as the dogs back home.

Eluréd stroked Huan’s neck, a thoughtful look crossing his face. “Huan,” he said carefully. “Could I ask something of you?”

The hound turned his head to Eluréd. Elurín cast a questioning look at his brother, but Eluréd continued, “We are looking for Fëanáro’s armoury. Could you take us there?”

Huan sniffed.

“It is very important,” Elurín put in. “Please, dear Huan?”

The hound eyed them closely for a moment. Elurín waited, his heart pounding madly; would Huan humour them, or alert Tyelkormo, wherever his master was?

Then Huan turned and trotted down the corridor. It was only when he paused, with a glance over his shoulder at them, that Elurín exhaled.

Both he and Eluréd followed Huan through corridors, past closed doors, alongside windows that looked out onto the grounds. They eventually came to a windowless corridor and at the end of it was a set of doors.

Huan came to a stop and sat back on his haunches, waiting for the twins to approach. Eluréd went first, pressing his palm to the door. “Is this the armoury?” he asked in a hushed voice.

Huan blinked once with deliberate slowness.

“Why are there no guards?” Elurín wondered aloud.

“It ought to be open for all,” Eluréd replied. “Otherwise how will everybody get their weapons when the time comes?”

He tried the doorknob. The doors budged slightly; he pulled at them with more strength, and the doors opened further.

With Elurín and Huan’s help, they managed to open the doors enough to slip inside.

It was dark inside save for the soft glow of lamps that lined the walls. A stairwell lay before them; Huan led them down, down, down, until Elurín was certain that they were now underground.

At the bottom was a cavernous chamber, dimly lit by lamps in the corners. Elurín gasped softly in awe. There was so much in this chamber! Armour, swords, spears, ornate chests filled with who-knew-what … Even Maedhros’ tale-telling was not enough to cover the grandeur of it all.

Huan sniffed at them to follow. Elurín and Eluréd followed him to the far end of the armoury, past all the devices of war, until, at last, they came to an altar of stone.

Upon the altar sat an iron safe. Elurín immediately knew what was inside without having to ask Huan.

A shiver trickled down his spine. To think that the Silmarils were _there,_ just two feet from Elurín …

He thought of Ada Dior’s Silmaril. He remembered only bright light, shining in many colours whenever it wished, its rays curling through the air and twisting around Ada Dior’s body. He remembered the soft whisper of the Silmaril’s song, though its melody now escaped him.

Eluréd stepped forward and tried the safe’s door, but it refused to budge.

“Locked,” he sighed, brushing his fingers against the keyhole that was set above the knob. “Fëanáro must be certain that nobody can get in.”

Elurín remembered Maedhros saying that Fëanor had built the Silmaril’s safe himself.

“But then there should be a key!” Eluréd said. “Huan, do you know where the key is?”

Huan tilted his head.

“Eluréd!” Elurín exclaimed, alarmed. “We should not –”

“We have come this far,” Eluréd said. “Huan would not have helped us if he did not trust us. Right, Huan?”

Huan sniffed.

“But – but what if –” Elurín paused and took a breath. “Dear Huan,” he said, turning to the hound. “You will not tell Tyelkormo, will you? I mean –”

Huan leaned forward and licked Elurín’s cheek. His tongue was rough but warm, and very gentle. Elurín relaxed somewhat, though he still wondered as he gazed at the hound. Did Huan sense something about them? Could he tell that their intentions were not for ill?

“There, see?” Eluréd said, rubbing Huan’s flank. Huan made a rumbling sound that sounded oddly like a chuckle, and he licked Eluréd’s face from chin to temple.

“Oof, Huan!” Eluréd complained, but he was grinning. Elurín giggled hard as his brother wiped the saliva from his face. 

“So,” Eluréd said, calming, “the safe key. Fëanáro must have it, yes?”

Huan snorted softly.

“Of course he would,” Eluréd muttered. “Huan, can you help us get it?”

Huan turned his face away, and Elurín’s heart sank.

“Fëanáro must have it with him always,” Eluréd mused. “There must be a way to get it!”

“But we do not know where it is, with him,” Elurín pointed out. “Maybe it is in a safe in his room! Or inside his robe! How will we get it then?”

“We will search his room,” Eluréd said simply.

Both Elurín and Huan stared at him. _“His room?”_ Elurín squeaked. “Brother – have you gone mad?”

“It is as you said! How else will we get the key? Come now. We will search his room tomorrow once he has left.”

“But what if he brings the key with him?”

Eluréd sighed in frustration.

They were at a roadblock. Elurín wracked his brains, but he could not think of any solution to this one. The best they could do was search Fëanáro’s room, as Eluréd said, but he highly doubted Fëanáro would leave his important keys lying around. 

Was this it, then? Perhaps they were not meant to use the Silmarils. Elurín’s hands began to shake. Was it their Doom to speak of the truth, to tell Fëanáro and the others who they really were?

He turned to Eluréd, thinking to tell him of this, but at that moment Huan circled them and nudged them away from the safe.

“What is it?” Eluréd asked, bewildered.

Huan snuffled their hair, gently urging them back the way they had come.

“Is someone coming?” Elurín whispered, heart quickening once again. “Maybe we ought to hurry –”

They all but ran through the armoury with Huan close behind, dashing up the stairs as fast as their legs could carry them. Elurín was gasping for breath by the time they reached the armoury doors; they slipped through and, with Huan’s help, pushed the doors closed.

Huan whined softly, and they followed him through the corridor. Did he know where their bedchamber was? Elurín hoped so. He did not want to get any more lost than they already were!

It was only when they came to a balustrade that Huan stopped. He circled them again and touched their foreheads with his wet nose. The meaning was clear; it was time for them to part.

“Wait!” Eluréd cried as Huan bounded off. “Do we go forward –?”

“Who is there?”

Elurín clamped a hand over his mouth to block a scream. Eluréd pulled him back into the shadows, though there was hardly enough to hide them sufficiently, especially with Telperion’s waning light shining through!

A figure appeared at the other end of the balustrade. Elurín watched, shaking all over, as the figure stepped into the light, revealing an ivory face with long, dark hair and startled eyes.

“Children!” Finwë said in shock. “What are you two doing out of bed?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huan is the best boy <3  
> And finally we have some progress with the twins' plans! That safe key will be a tough pickle to deal with, though ... XDDD
> 
> Your comments and kudos are all greatly appreciated! <333


	19. The Descendants of Elwë

“My lord!” Eluréd gasped. “I did not – I mean, we –”

Finwë approached them as one came near frightened prey. “There now, no need to fear,” he said gently. “Forgive me for startling you. But what are you doing here?”

Elurín bit his lip and looked to Eluréd. His brother hesitated before saying, “We, er … We could not sleep.”

Finwë arched an eyebrow. He glanced down the way they had come, and Elurín’s heart skipped a beat.

“Well, I can understand a little night excursion. The Valar know I have had many. But now it is late for all of us.” Finwë smiled gently at them. “Come, I will walk with you.”

Relieved, Elurín and Eluréd fell in step beside Finwë. They moved in silence for a moment, and after a time Elurín wondered why Finwë was out of bed. Could he not sleep as well? Was he thinking about Fëanáro’s departure?

“If I may,” Finwë said, breaking the quiet. “What possessed you both to come this way? It is quite far from Mastaro’s wing.”

Elurín blanked.

“We thought – a change of scenery would do us good,” Eluréd supplied. It was a lame excuse, even Elurín could see that.

Therefore, he added, “We got lost, my lord.”

“Indeed? Finwë said with polite interest. Perhaps a little  _ too _ polite. “You have never been in this part of the house, before?”

Both Elurín and Eluréd shook their heads. Elurín’s heart pounded; where was this leading to?

“I can give you a tour tomorrow, then,” Finwë offered. “Yet the armoury is not for children’s eyes.”

Elurín bit his lip to hold back a gasp. They had stopped walking, and now Finwë gazed down at them with a stern look on his noble face.

“H-how did you know?” Eluréd stammered.

Finwë’s expression softened. “You came from that way, did you not? And there was a draft that followed you. There is always one whenever the armoury doors are opened.”

Elurín’s heart sank. They were in deep trouble now! How would they get out of this one?

“Do not fear,” Finwë continued, kneeling down to meet their eyes. “I will not speak of it to any other. But how did you know where to find the armoury?”

It would not hurt to tell him if he was going to keep silent. Finwë was not Fëanáro or even Maitimo. “We had help,” Elurín murmured.

“From Huan,” Eluréd supplied.

Finwë arched an eyebrow. “Well, if my grandson’s hound trusts you, then that speaks much to me.”

Kindness glittered in his blue eyes. Elurín found himself gazing intently into Finwë’s face as he had done before, memorizing his features, the gentle square-cut jaw and slope of his nose. The way his dark hair curtained his face, hanging to his waist. The way his eyes crinkled at the edges when he smiled.

Once again Elurín felt a coil of shame in his chest for hating Finwë, even if that hate had been momentary, disappearing in a breeze. Finwë did his best, just as Maedhros did. He loved Fëanáro. 

_ But you could have listened more. You could have waited. _

It was too late to think about what could or should have been done.

Something came over Elurín then. Would it be so bad to tell Finwë of what would happen? Perhaps this was their chance to change things – to save Finwë from his death by Melkor’s hands!

And maybe then Fëanáro would not go mad … 

“Children,” Finwë said, with an air of hesitance, “I wish to ask something of you.”

Elurín exchanged a nervous glance with Eluréd. “What is it?” his brother asked.

Finwë’s jaw tightened. “Do you know of Elwë?”

Elurín’s spine crawled with tingling chills. Even Eluréd was speechless, having been caught off-guard.

“I know you said you do not remember,” Finwë said hastily. “But something tells me that you do. And, for whatever reason, you must keep your secrets. But please, if you can … Do you know him?”

For a split second, everything was still. Elurín saw only a Noldo who was desperate for news of his friend. Could he withhold that from him?

Before Elurín could think twice, he tilted his head forward in an ungraceful nod.

Finwë drew in a trembling breath. “I knew it,” he whispered. “You look as he did. I knew that that could not be for nothing.”

“We – we know him by name,” Eluréd said quickly. “Not in person. But you are right – we are his kin.”

“How is he?” Finwë asked, all excitement and eagerness. “My dearest friend, I never thought that –” His face contorted with memory. “When Olwë came over the sea, he said that they had lost Elwë. But now you stand here … Was he found?”

This would not harm anybody. Thingol was still alive in this time. Elurín looked to Eluréd again, and he knew that his brother thought the same.

“Yes,” Eluréd said. “He is with his people again.”

“And Elmo, his brother?”

“They were reunited.”

Finwë exhaled slowly, eyes shining with relief. “That is good to hear. Thank you.”

“You – you will not tell anybody?” Elurín breathed.

An odd look passed over Finwë’s face. “I will not, but … Why must you keep it silent?”

“It is important,” Eluréd said. “Please, my lord?”

Finwë looked from him to Elurín. Eventually, he sighed and nodded. “Very well. The Valar will help you, in any case.”

Elurín’s stomach still flopped, but he supposed this was the best they would get. Finwë was a good man. He would not speak of this to anybody … At least, Elurín prayed he would not.

Finwë stood with a heavy sigh and they continued on their walk. The trip back to their bedchamber was quiet; there was nobody out and about aside from them, at least from what Elurín saw. Finwë stood before them at the doorway and bid them goodnight.

“Goodnight, my lord,” Eluréd replied with a small bow.

“Goodnight,” Elurín echoed.

When he looked up into Finwë’s face, he saw for a moment a piece of Maedhros. The softness of his smile, the weary – yet gentle – gleam in his eyes.

“I will bid you both farewell, for now,” Finwë said, and he turned away.

A cold fist seized Elurín’s heart, and he reached out to grasp Finwë’s hand.

“My lord,” he gasped. “Wait.”

Finwë glanced back, eyebrows raised in surprise. “What is it, child?”

“Will you promise us something?”

“It will depend on what you ask,” Finwë replied, though his face now lit with piqued curiosity.

Elurín swallowed. How was he to phrase this?

“I know you have many duties,” he began. “Some are more difficult than others. But, whatever you do, keep away from those that may be – dangerous.”

A furrow appeared between Finwë’s brows. “Do you have foresight, Lindelen?”

“No,” Elurín said hastily. Valar, he must be careful! “I only – I worry for you. And your family.”

Finwë’s face softened. “I see. You need not worry, child. We will be alright.”

“But please,” Elurín pleaded. “Do not step into danger, my lord. Even if the deed is noble. This House needs you.”

Finwë laid his hands on Elurín and Eluréd’s shoulders. “Whatever has worried you, Lindelen, I assure you that you need not fear. But I will promise if it eases you.”

Elurín exhaled slowly. “Thank you, my lord.”

Finwë inclined his head. His eyes still gleamed, yet he said, ‘Now, it is time for bed. Tomorrow is a new day.”

And with that, he was gone.

Elurín watched him go for a moment. Had he done all he could? Should he have told Finwë the truth?

The thoughts plagued Elurín even as he and Eluréd got into bed. It was a long while before he fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not entiiirely happy with this chapter; I don't think I was able to convey what I wanted, especially with Finwe, but I also wanted to post this on time loll Sorry that it's a short one ^^;;
> 
> Your comments and kudos are all greatly appreciated! <333


	20. Laiquehepar's Tea

The next morning, Elurín awoke with heavy eyes and the sense that he stood at the edge of a cliff. With the slightest brush of air, he would fall over and plummet to his death. His pulse quickened, and his chest tightened so that his breath came out heavy.

“Eluréd,” he whispered, nudging his brother. “Come, we have to hurry!”

Eluréd looked far more awake than he. They both leapt out of bed and scrambled around to get properly dressed for the day. _Hurry, hurry,_ Elurín intoned in his mind. 

Fëanáro would have left by now. Or perhaps he was preparing to leave? Elurín did not know, but he did not want to waste time waiting around.

The key to the Silmarils’ safe. They must try to find it, at least! Who knew how much time they had before Morgoth – _Melkor_ arrived?

Someone knocked on the door before Elurín had a chance to put on his slippers. It was Lirindiel.

“Oh, you are up already? That is good!” She took up a brush and brushed their hair until it shone like silver silk. Elurín stood as still as a statue though he felt restless with impatience.

“Where is breakfast?” Eluréd asked.

“Lord Finwë has invited you to eat breakfast at the dining hall,” Lirindiel replied. “Is that not an honour? You are both so lucky!”

Elurín swallowed. If they were truly lucky, they would find a way to change things before everything fell apart!

As they followed Lirindiel to the dining hall, Eluréd asked, “Is Lord Fëanáro still here?”

“Oh, no,” Lirindiel replied. “He left early this morning while you were still asleep! He is on his way to Taniquetil for the festival. Do you know of it?”

Both Elurín and Eluréd hesitated. Lirindiel doubtless took their silence to mean no, and she explained, “Lord Manwë holds it for the reconciliation of the Eldar, but especially for Lord Fëanáro and his half-brother, Lord Nolofinwë. All the Eldar in Aman have gone to celebrate, or so I hear.”

“What about you?” Elurín asked.

Lirindiel shook her head, though there was the slightest look of longing on her face. “Nay, none of Formenos shall go. It is our lord’s command.”

Elurín exchanged a glance with Eluréd and saw his own panic mirrored in his brother’s face. How much time did they have now? A day? Two days? Oh, why had he not asked specific questions during his history lessons back home?

Not all the lords were in the dining hall when Elurín and Eluréd arrived. Fëanáro was not there, nor were Tyelkormo and Curufinwë, to Elurín’s relief.

Maitimo was not at the table either. He must have left early, no doubt busy with other things. Elurín did not feel as saddened by this as he might have before; the lack of a plan between him and Eluréd bothered him already, and he bowed to Finwë without paying too much attention to the king’s words.

Eluréd’s nudge brought Elurín back to the present. Finwë was in the middle of talking, and Elurín had missed the first part!

“… show you more of the house, if you like,” Finwë offered.

“We would be most honoured,” Eluréd replied, sounding much calmer than Elurín felt. Did they even have time to follow Finwë around? They needed to look for the safe key!

Nevertheless, they finished breakfast and followed Finwë out of the dining hall. He led them through the house into areas that Elurín did not recognize, pointing out this and that. Elurín hardly paid attention. Impatience coiled in his gut, and it was all he could do to not jump up and dash off down the corridor.

As they went, he exchanged many anxious glances with Eluréd behind Finwë’s back. _We must do something soon!_

“My lord,” Eluréd said, “is it true that this fortress is impenetrable?”

Finwë glanced at them. “It is the strongest you will ever find. My son organized its construction.”

“But what about the Valar?” Eluréd asked. Elurín frowned; was this going where he thought it was?

“What do you mean?” Finwë asked, still strolling forward.

“We heard that – Melkor came here, not too long ago,” Eluréd explained.

Finwë came to a halt. The air turned cold around them, but to Elurín’s relief, Eluréd pressed onward. “We only worry, my lord. What if he returns? Will Formenos keep him out?”

When Finwë turned to them, there was something schooled about his expression. Not completely, but it was certainly mask-like.

“You need not trouble yourselves over that,” he said, voice low and reassuring. “I doubt he will return. The Valar have their eyes on him.”

 _Not all,_ Elurín thought, but he did not say it aloud.

“But what if he does?” Eluréd asked quickly. “There are ways to evacuate, are there not?”

“Hrávelen, why do you fear so? Is it because Fëanáro is not here to guard the fortress?”

Eluréd hesitated.

“Melkor will not return,” Finwë said firmly. “What can he do while the Valar keep watch? He would not risk their wrath again.”

Elurín bit his lip, desperately wanting to refute all that Finwë said. At that moment, however, he heard footsteps trotting near. They all turned to see Laiquehepar, pink in the face and out of breath. He came to a halt and bowed low before Finwë.

“Your pardon, my lord,” Laiquehepar said, avoiding Finwë’s eyes. “I – my father requires Hrávelen and Lindelen’s assistance.”

“Oh,” Finwë said. “Well then, perhaps we can continue our tour later!”

He smiled at Elurín and Eluréd, yet there was a small glint of disappointment in his face.

“It is alright, my lord,” Laiquehepar said hurriedly. “I can tell my father that you are busy with them –”

“Not at all, my boy,” Finwë said with a wave of his hand.

Eluréd cleared his throat. Elurín looked to him in question, but Eluréd said, “I can go while Lindelen stays.”

Elurín frowned. What did his brother mean by this? He wished he could ask, but something told him to keep quiet.

“Are you sure?” Finwë asked, arching an eyebrow. “Lindelen, what say you?”

Elurín met Eluréd’s gaze. His brother winked ever so slightly. Was he planning something? If he went with Laiquehepar, he might have a better chance to get away and start searching …

And as for Elurín? He would be alone with Finwë. Maybe he could ask some questions, guide them back to the subject of the armoury … Or was that too dangerous?

“I do not mind, my lord,” Elurín said eventually. “And when Hrávelen is done, I can show him around!”

“In that case,” Finwë said, “I hope you will be with us again soon, Hrávelen. And Laiquehepar, give my best to Mastaro.”

Both Laiquehepar and Eluréd bowed, and departed down the corridor. Elurín was left standing next to the High King of the Noldor.

Elurín’s stomach flopped as he fell in step beside Finwë. What was he to do now? What should he say? He thought he might ask about the armoury, but now that seemed like a risky idea, especially if he messed it up!

If only he had more time … Now that Elurín walked with Finwë, the looming Doom of the elder’s death became all the more apparent to him.

“My lord,” he began, heart drumming against his ribs, “you have not shown me the armoury yet.”

Not the subtlest, certainly. But what else was he to do?

“Did you not see it last night?” Finwë asked, a hint of amusement in his tone.

“Well, yes,” Elurín murmured. “But – I would like to see it again. And since you are with me, surely I will see more than I did the first time!”

“I would prefer you to see less,” Finwë said, and his voice grew grave. “There are many things in the armoury that are not for your eyes. Why Huan brought you there, I do not know, but his instincts have never been wrong before. He trusted you, and so shall I.”

“Then trust that I will be alright,” Elurín said earnestly. “Please, my lord?”

Finwë gazed at him for a long moment. Elurín saw the turmoil in his eyes, and he prayed to the Valar that all would go well. _Please, let us succeed! Do not let this be for naught!_

Then Finwë sighed. “Very well. Let us go.”

Elurín took deep breaths as he followed Finwë all the way to the armoury doors. He did not know what he had to gain from going there a second time, and yet …

A gentle draft blew over him as Finwë opened the doors. They descended down the stairs, just as Elurín and Eluréd did the night before, and Elurín soon found himself in the vast chamber. There was so much to see, so much he had missed in his first visit, yet his gaze constantly turned to the iron safe at the far end.

“So many blades,” Elurín murmured.

“Yes,” Finwë replied. “As much as I detest them, my son believes them necessary.”

“Why? Does he fear an attack?” Elurín knew the reason, but it seemed better to play ignorant for now.

“You have a sharp mind,” Finwë said, patting Elurín’s head. “My son is concerned for us all, but I see no reason to worry.”

“But what of his special jewels?” Elurín asked, as carefully as he could. “I heard he has these jewels that Melkor wanted. What if Melkor comes back to get them?”

Finwë raised his eyebrows. “You mean the Silmarils?”

Elurín swallowed and nodded.

“They are locked away,” Finwë said. He tilted his head at Elurín. “Do you know where they are?”

Elurín bit his lip. Part of him felt that he was treading dangerous ground. Was it safe to tell Finwë all this?

But Finwë trusted him. Perhaps not completely, but he did trust Elurín enough to bring him to the armoury. Surely Elurín should trust him too?

He pointed to the iron safe at the far end of the chamber. “They are in there, yes? The door is locked.”

Finwë stared at the safe for a moment. “Did Huan bring you that far?”

“Please do not get mad at him,” Elurín pleaded. “We were only curious!”

Had he gone too far in revealing all this? If only Eluréd was here to patch things over! What was Elurín to do now?

Finwë gazed at him with a searching look. Did he think Elurín was lying? Elurín would not blame him.

“I am not concerned about you getting into the safe,” Finwë said after a moment, “No one can get in.”

“But a Vala could,” Elurín murmured. A sudden panic overcame him, flowing through his veins like ice, tightening his chest until he wheezed. “My lord, I need to tell you something.”

Finwë looked to him with raised eyebrows. Before he could say anything, Elurín pressed on. “My brother and I – we are from Beleriand, and you are right in that we are keeping secrets.”

He watched as Finwë went still. Then the elder knelt next to him, all curiosity and eagerness and seriousness. “You need not be afraid,” Finwë said. “I will go with you to the Valar when it is time, if it would ease you.”

“No, that – that is not it,” Elurín said desperately. “My lord, we are from the future.”

Finwë stared at him, speechless.

“We are Elwë’s great-grandchildren,” Elurín continued before he could lose his nerve. “We do not know how we came here, but you must believe me when I say that something bad will happen. The Silmarils are not safe here. None of us is. Melkor will come, and –”

“Lindelen!” Finwë exclaimed, astonished. “Calm yourself. What you speak of – how could you be from another time? If anyone were to have that power, the Valar would.”

“I know it sounds ridiculous, but you must believe me!” Elurín cried. “Melkor will come here! You must get everyone to evacuate, and take the Silmarils far away! Please, my lord –”

“That is enough, Lindelen,” Finwë said firmly, getting to his feet. “Whatever has overcome you, I do not know. But if it is Melkor you fear, I can assure you that he will not come while the Valar are here.”

“But they are not watching!” Elurín protested. “Not truly, at least! And I am not lying!”

“I believe that you are Elwë’s kin,” Finwë said. “As for the rest that you claim, I will leave that to the Valar to decide.”

“No, but – the Silmarils! They are not safe here,” Elurín cried, eyes stinging with tears at his failure. “My lord, I know Fëanáro has the key, but you could at least move the safe to a better spot!”

“Fëanáro does not have the key,” Finwë said. “I have it.”

Elurín blinked. “You – you do?”

“He gave it to me for safekeeping before he left. No, I will not move the Jewels. Come now, Lindelen! Why would Melkor risk coming here when he has nothing, no allies or arms?”

“He does have allies!” Elurín said, frustration clashing with fear. “A great big spider, and – and –”

 _“Enough,_ Lindelen. Come, we will go upstairs, and you will rest. I do not know why this fear has taken you, but you will soon see that we are safe.”

Elurín felt silent. There was no other choice than to follow Finwë back up the stairs. Tears blinded him, and he hastily wiped them away. Finwë did not believe him. Elurín should not have bothered! Speaking of the future sounded so outlandish and mad, and no doubt Finwë thought him wild now!

Melkor would come, and he would kill Finwë, and steal the Silmarils … Elurín failed to convince the High King, yet at least he tried. But no, that was not enough!

Would Elurín and Eluréd ever succeed? Or were they meant to sit back and watch their history unfold? Elurín did not want that, but what else was there to do now?

 _Ada,_ he thought miserably, _what should I do? What would_ you _do?_

“Ah, Tyelkormo,” Finwë called suddenly.

Ice trickled down Elurín’s spine. _Tyelkormo?_ This day was getting worse and worse!

Tyelkormo stood several feet away, speaking with a servant, yet he turned and strode over to greet Finwë. Elurín moved to stand behind Finwë so that Tyelkormo would not see him. And even if he could, it seemed that he would rather ignore Elurín.

Huan was there as well; after leaning against Finwë’s leg, he trotted over to Elurín and snuffled at his cheeks. Elurín avoided looking at Tyelkormo and buried his face in Huan’s warm fur.

Something sparked in his heart at that moment. His words with Finwë in the armoury had not been a complete waste. And now that his friend was here …

“Dear Huan,” Elurín whispered in the hound’s ear, quieter than a breath, while Finwë and Tyelkormo conversed. “Finwë has the safe key. But I do not know where.”

Huan sniffed, licked Elurín’s face and turned back to Finwë. Elurín watched while appearing interested in the lords’ conversation; Huan licked Finwë’s hand, and Finwë, laughing warmly, scratched the hound behind the ears. Huan wagged his tail eagerly, moving his nose over Finwë’s chest as the latter leaned down.

Then Huan settled himself at Tyelkormo’s feet, sitting back on his haunches. After a moment, he caught Elurín’s eye, and leaned down to rub his own belly with his nose. In this way, it seemed that Huan attempted to scratch himself.

Then he glanced up at Tyelkormo and whined softly.

“It seems Huan is eager for your attention,” Finwë said, chuckling.

Tyelkormo half-smiled. Looking down at Huan, he muttered, “I spoil you too much.”

Huan licked his master’s hand in response.

After that, Elurín hardly had any recollection of what happened. He vaguely remembered that Tyelkormo left, either for hunting or business (perhaps they were one and the same for him), and that Finwë brought Elurín to the kitchens.

“My lord! Lindelen!” Mastaro greeted them. “I trust your time together was good?”

“Indeed,” Finwë replied, and Elurín’s gut clenched to remember their confrontation. “I think Lindelen is a little tired, so I would ask that you do not work him too hard today.”

Mastaro bowed. “Of course, my lord.”

Elurín bowed to Finwë with a murmured farewell and, while Finwë and Mastaro spoke with each other, hurried over to Eluréd. His brother stood at the sink, washing dishes. “Well?” he whispered.

“Finwë has the key,” Elurín whispered, taking up a dirty plate to help. “And he carries it with him. We just need to get it now!”

“But how?” Eluréd wondered, just as quietly.

That was another hard part. Elurín could not be sure if Finwë would keep the key in his robes for much longer. They had to hurry before Finwë changed, or moved the key someplace else … Especially after his talk with Elurín!

He glanced over his shoulder. Finwë must have left a moment ago, for he was no longer at the door. Mastaro now walked through the kitchens, calling for Laiquehepar. “Lord Finwë would like a cup of tea,” Elurín heard him say. “Would you make one for him?”

Laiquehepar beamed. “Of course! Where shall I bring it?”

“His study, he says.”

Eluréd nudged Elurín’s arm. An excited gleam shone in his pale eyes. “I know what to do,” he whispered, so soft that Elurín had to lean closer to hear. “You take over the dishes, and wait here for me.”

Bewildered, Elurín shifted into Eluréd’s position at the sink as his brother left. What could Eluréd be up to?

Through several glances over his shoulder, Elurín knew that Laiquehepar neared the completion of Finwë’s tea. He poured it into a big teapot, set it on a tray, and included a cup, a small spoon, and little containers of cream and sugar. 

“Scones,” Laiquehepar muttered, and he went off to check one of the ovens, some feet away.

At that moment, Eluréd dashed forward, unseen by any save for Elurín. Everyone else was busy with their own cooking, after all, and Eluréd moved as though to reach the basket of berries, which was quite close to the tea tray. He blocked the tray completely from Elurín’s vision.

Two heartbeats later, Eluréd hurried away.

Laiquehepar returned a moment later with a plate of steaming scones. He set them on the tray next to the teapot, and Elurín saw nothing changed with the tray. What had Eluréd done with it?

Laiquehepar made one last check on the tea tray, making sure everything was in place, then picked it up and left the kitchen.

Eluréd appeared at Elurín’s side a couple minutes later. “Alright, it is done. Now we just need to wait until –”

“Lindelen?”

They both turned to see Mastaro. “Yes?” Elurín asked in a small voice.

Mastaro smiled gently. “You can take a break, Lindelen. Finwë said that you were tired, and I do not want you wearing out.”

“Oh, er, thank you.” Elurín did not know what to do with his break, but perhaps he could take the time to ask Eluréd what he had done …

Once Mastaro was gone, Eluréd immediately said, “This is your chance! Go to Finwë’s study.”

When Elurín stared at him, uncomprehending, Eluréd leaned closer to whisper. “He ought to have fallen asleep by now, if he drank the tea at all.”

“You – what did you do?”

“I borrowed a herb from Laiquehepar’s collection. No time to explain now, hurry!”

Did Eluréd _drug_ Finwë’s tea? Elurín could hardly believe it, yet he soon found himself telling Mastaro that he would take a walk, and then he left the kitchens, taking the path to Finwë’s study. He knew where it was since it was close to Maitimo’s study, and he knew the way _there_ very well.

He even bumped into Laiquehepar on the way there, so he knew that he was on the right track. “Oh, Lindelen!” he said, grinning broadly. “I just spoke with the king! Can you believe it?”

“That is wonderful,” Elurín said. “You must tell us all about it!”

“After lunch, then. He said I ought to make his tea all the time – it was so good! I must tell Father …” Laiquehepar hurried off down the corridor, all aglow with pride.

Elurín swallowed and continued onwards. He was getting closer to Finwë’s study now; he found the door closed with Laurelin’s light shining underneath. As for who was inside, Elurín heard no footsteps, no scratching of quills.

Taking a deep breath, he knocked softly on the door. “My lord?”

There was no answer. Elurín knocked a little louder, but still there was nothing.

Was he asleep as Eluréd believed? Elurín’s heart hammered fiercely as he turned the knob with a trembling hand. No one was in the corridor, so this ought to be safe …

Within Finwë’s study, all was arranged in a practical manner, rather like Maitimo’s. Elurín shut the door quietly and looked around. He soon found what he sought.

There, sitting in the chair and leaning his head against the backrest, was Finwë. A cup of tea sat near his hand, and a half-eaten scone remained on the plate.

For a wild second, Elurín feared that Finwë was dead. Eluréd must have killed him! He overdosed the tea, and now they were all doomed!

But no – Finwë’s shoulders shifted, and his chest rose and fell shallowly. A soft snore left him, followed by another.

Elurín exhaled with immense relief. Finwë was asleep. Oh, Valar, this adventure would be Elurín's undoing!

He crept forward, fearing that Finwë might wake from even the smallest noise. The elder looked as though he were taking a nap; he was not slumped over his table, for one. Perhaps he felt the drowsiness coming over him and thought it normal? Elurín could not be sure, but now was not the time to dwell on it.

He came near Finwë's side. Finwë still wore the same clothes, but surely it would be a good idea to check the drawers of his desk first.

Elurín opened the first one. It was filled with parchment. He closed it and opened the next one, and then the next one, fully aware of Finwë sleeping beside him. When the last drawer yielded nothing, Elurín turned to Finwë.

There was nothing to it. He had to search Finwë’s outer robe.

“Sorry,” Elurín whispered, and he carefully peeled back the front of Finwë’s robe to reveal inner padded pockets.

He felt the left-hand pockets, but there was nothing. Then he checked the right-hand ones, and there – the outline of something long, thin, and hard. Pulse racing, Elurín withdrew the object. An iron key.

This must be it. Elurín held the key in his hands, unable to believe his eyes. Now they could retrieve the Silmarils!

He glanced at Finwë. The elder still slept in his chair, calm and peaceful, and looking more youthful than ever. “My lord,” Elurín whispered, though he knew Finwë could not hear, “I am sure Elwë misses you. He will be alright for now. Do not worry.”

Indeed, Thingol would be well for many years yet. Perhaps, if Elurín and Eluréd succeeded well enough, Finwë and Thingol might reunite somewhere that was _not_ the Halls of Mandos … 

But there would be more time to think of that later if all went well. Elurín hurried over to the door, checked the corridor for anybody passing by, and made his way back to the kitchens with the key safety tucked away in his robes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, things are in real motion! Let's hope nothing gets in the twins' way as they try to get things done XDD They're making progress though! :D
> 
> And wow this chapter is long loll I actually finished it yesterday, so if some things feel rushed, it's because of that. I've caught myself up in buffer chapters, so I'll try to keep up with my schedule! Wish me luck XDD
> 
> Your comments and kudos are all greatly appreciated! <333


	21. From Light to Darkness

“Alright, here is the plan,” Eluréd said, in the privacy of their bedchamber. “We take the Silmarils and lead Morgoth far away. On horseback.”

“We will surely die,” Elurín pointed out, unable to quell the fear that squeezed his chest tight.

“Better us than Finwë,” Eluréd said. “He might have a chance in controlling Fëanáro. And even if Morgoth takes the Silmarils … Well, maybe we can hide them before he catches up to us.”

It all sounded very risky and very, very suicidal. But Elurín could think of nothing else to do. As much as the prospect frightened him, he had to admit that Eluréd’s words rang with truth: keeping Finwë alive was best, especially if he could keep reigns on Fëanáro.

“But the horses,” Elurín said. “We still need to prepare them. And we do not know the way out of Formenos!”

Eluréd huffed, biting his lower lip. “We had better take care of that now, then.”

“But – what if we are caught?” Elurín breathed. He could imagine it already: Tyelkormo walking in on them as they attempted to saddle horses. Or maybe Finwë catching them while they tried to take the Silmarils! Elurín shuddered to think of what would happen then.

Eluréd half-smiled, likely guessing Elurín’s thoughts. “What is the worst that can happen if they find us sneaking around?”

“Morgoth will kill us all,” Elurín replied promptly.

“Exactly. At this point, what does it matter if they see us? Now is not the time to tip-toe around.”

“But what if they throw us in the dungeons?” Elurín asked anxiously. “What if they lock us away and we cannot do anything?”

“Then we just need to be fast,” Eluréd said, as though there was no concern at all.

Elurín sighed. “I wish I had your confidence.”

“You think I am _confident?_ Can you not see my shaking hands?”

“Oh, alright then. Where ought we to start? The stables or the Silmarils?”

Eluréd rubbed his chin. “The stables. Better to have the horses ready in case something goes wrong.”

“But what if Finwë comes looking? He will see that the key is gone, will he not?”

A sheepish look passed over Eluréd’s face. “I, er, do not know how long he will sleep,” he admitted. “But I know that when he does wake, he will be a bit groggy.”

Elurín narrowed his eyes. “Are you _sure_ you used the right herb?”

“Yes! Laephebron told me about those herbs himself, you know. Back home, I mean. Come now, do we not have more important things to worry about?”

With that said, they hurried off to the stables outside. By some grace of the Valar, they did not run into anybody – neither the lords of Formenos nor passing servants. Where was everybody?

Elurín’s heart bobbed in his throat as they approached the stables, bathed in Laurelin’s waning light. The last time they came here, Tyelkormo had leapt out and surprised them.

Eluréd reached out with a trembling hand and pushed the door open.

The air was warm inside the stables. Warm and musky with the scent of fresh hay. The horses stood in their spaces contentedly, either napping or munching away on their meal. Shafts of golden light spilled into the open space from the windows.

There was nobody inside save for the horses. What stroke of luck was this? Hope sparked warmly in Elurín’s chest. Would they succeed after all?

It took them a moment to find the saddles, and after that they had to tack up the horses. Elurín gulped as he gazed up at the impressive mounts. They were all so tall! He prayed he would not fall over when it came time to ride them.

Eluréd chose the horse that they would ride – a chestnut steed with warm, dark eyes. “He looks friendly, does he not?” Eluréd said, gazing fondly at the horse. 

Elurín nodded hesitantly. He could not truly tell, but yes, the horse did seem quite kind.

“There now,” he whispered they set to work. “Good boy. Do not worry.”

They both stood on boxes to set the saddle on the horse. One day, Elurín thought, he would not be so short. He only hoped that that day would come soon, and that he might live to see it.

Both he and Eluréd worked quickly, moving as though they were of one mind. Amras had taught them much in the way of cleaning and tacking a horse, even riding one solo. But was it enough for the task ahead?

Elurín’s hands trembled as he finished with the final buckle. The chestnut horse eyed him with some interest, but made no sound. Would he listen to them when it came time to ride? Elurín hoped so.

“Come on!” Eluréd said urgently. “We must hurry.”

The Silmarils! Elurín’s mouth dried as he followed his brother out of the stables, across the grounds, and back into Fëanáro’s house. Tacking the horse must have taken around fifteen minutes, but it felt like ages. Laurelin’s light waned dimmer than ever. And was it Elurín’s imagination, or was Telperion waxing slower than usual?

Perhaps it was nothing. They still had some time before dinner, at least. Was Mastaro looking for them? What about Finwë?

A deep part of Elurín wondered about Matiimo. It was odd, but he found that he no longer thought of Maitimo as much as before. His heart twisted, but the guilt was lessened by the certainty that Maitimo did not think of them much either.

Maitimo was not their adar, but Maedhros was. Maedhros would likely wonder where they were after a few hours or more of absence.

“Do you remember the way to the armoury?” Eluréd whispered.

Elurín nodded. Finwë had taken the time to point out many things, planting them as landmarks in Elurín’s mind. “This way,” he said, and off they went.

They were halfway to the armoury when Eluréd said, “Is it just me, or is it getting darker?”

Elurín frowned. “What do you mean?”

Eluréd grasped Elurín’s arm, halting them both by an open window. “Look there –” he began.

The light shining through the window diminished and disappeared. Darkness akin to night fell upon them, and Elurín gazed up at the sky in wonder. A multitude of stars shone overhead, twinkling across the dark sky amidst ribbons of colourful light.

His awe remained only for a moment. Even as he watched, a black cloud sped across the sky with twisting tendrils, blocking out the stars, the lights, everything. Elurín glanced down to the lands beyond Formenos, but he could not see anything. Not Tirion, nor Valmar, nor even the Two Trees themselves.

Fear seized Elurín in that moment, squeezing his chest like an iron fist, sending ice through his veins so that he trembled terribly. Cries erupted throughout the fortress, both within Fëanáro’s house and beyond.

“It has started,” Eluréd murmured, eyes glazed with panic. “He is coming.”

Elurín sucked in a lungful of cold night air, grabbed Eluréd’s hand, and dashed off down the corridor. There was still time. Ungoliant’s vapours had not yet reached them.

They were nearly at the armoury. _Just a little further,_ he told himself.

He nearly sobbed with relief when the armoury doors came into view. Both he and Eluréd pulled them open enough that they could slip through. The torches flickered as they passed down the stairs, and it seemed to Elurín that the walls around them vibrated with energy. Or was it some force in the earth that shook them?

They ran to the other side of the cavern. There sat the iron safe, unmoved and unbothered by its surroundings. Elurín’s hands shook as he withdrew the key from his robes; Eluréd took his hand, steadying him, and together they fit the key into the safe’s lock.

There was a _snick,_ and, as the key turned, the sound of whirring within the safe. Elurín’s heart beat so fast that he thought it would burst! To his relief, Eluréd opened the safe door, revealing shaft after shaft of brilliant light that filled the armoury.

Elurín stared into the safe where the Silmarils lay, all three of them, shining bright with white fire. A whisper of their song flitted past his ears, strong and clear.

Memories of the Silmaril in Doriath came to Elurín’s mind: Ada Dior cradling it to his chest, wearing it about his neck, gazing into it as though he could not get enough.

Elurín shivered. He did not want to touch the Silmarils if he could help it, but he had no choice now. He stepped forward, extending his hand into the flaring light, and curled his fingers over the smooth, round surface of a Silmaril.

_Child._

Elurín sucked in a sharp breath. The Silmaril’s song washed over him like a burst of cold air, clear and commanding and freezing him to the bone.

_Who are you?_

Elurín shook his head. _No, go away!_

The Silmaril’s light flickered across his vision, growing brighter, threatening to encompass everything. Elurín hastily shut his mind’s eye at the first swirl of mist; he could not be sure if the Silmaril would show him visions, but he was not going to risk it.

Closing his sight to the Silmaril was like shutting his eyes against the powerful glare of the sun.

 _You sing,_ the Silmaril chimed. _I listen._

“No,” Elurín said aloud. “Not now.”

A hand fell over his – Eluréd. “Stop it,” his brother said forcefully, and it took Elurín a moment to realize that Eluréd spoke to the Jewel and not himself.

The Silmaril recoiled somewhat, but it still pulsed insistently in Elurín’s hand. He breathed out shakily and looked to Eluréd in gratitude. “Thank you.”

Eluréd’s frown did not change as he gazed at the Silmaril in Elurín’s hand. Then, without another word, he reached into the safe and took up the second Silmaril.

Elurín watched anxiously. Did the second Jewel sing to Eluréd with a cold song too?

Two heartbeats passed before Eluréd spoke. “This one is the same,” he muttered.

For a moment, Elurín wondered which Silmaril would fall into Ada Dior’s hands. The one Elurín held? Or Eluréd’s? Or the one that still remained in the safe?

But there was no time to dwell on it. Morgoth – he was coming.

Almost as one, both Elurín and Eluréd looked at the third Silmaril. Butterflies fluttered in Elurín’s stomach as he considered the Jewel. There was nothing else to do but take it. 

Eluréd must have thought the same as he, for just as Elurín extended his hand, his brother did the same. Their hands rested over the third Silmaril, and its song brushed over Elurín’s ears.

He expected the same chilliness that the other two exuded. He waited for the Silmaril to speak, to demand a song, but none of that happened. This one was … different. Warm. Hardly insistent or forceful. Firm, yes, but also … hesitant.

Elurín paused in surprise. There was something oddly familiar about this one. But it could not be the same Silmaril that Ada Dior held. That much he knew for certain; his ada’s Jewel had been harsher, colder. Unsettling.

And the song of this Silmaril sounded odd as well. It was rather rough, but in the way that strong, gruff-voiced people sound rough when they speak softly. Had Elurín heard it in a dream?

He glanced at Eluréd. His brother gazed at the Jewel in awe, then laid his hand over it. Streams of light escaped through his fingers, casting his face in glorious light.

Eluréd tilted his head, as though listening to something. Did he sense something that Elurín did not?

Elurín was about to speak when a tremor shook the chamber. He gasped, cowering with Eluréd and praying that the armoury would not collapse upon them.

“We must go,” Eluréd breathed. “Come on! And hide the Silmarils.”

All thought of the Silmarils’ songs fled from Elurín’s mind. They tucked the Silmarils into their robes, and then they ran. Elurín could not remember ever running so fast in his life! He and Eluréd left the armoury, dashing up the stairs and slipping through the doors.

Upon entering the corridor, they found themselves surrounded by a deepening dark, as though a black cloud passed through the house. And it was getting darker.

Elurín could hardly breathe for fear. Ungoliant’s vapours curled around his feet and arms, choking him with its foul, cloying stench. Was she here already? Was Morgoth here?

Panicked shouts sounded from nearby, above, and below. Thundering footsteps reached Elurín’s ears, but he had not the time to see what was happening. Eluréd grabbed his hand, and together they ran down the corridor.

“Weapons!” Elurín heard someone cry, far behind them. “Get every weapon you can!”

“The High King – where is he?”

“What is happening? I cannot see!”

“Torches, lamps –!”

_“I cannot see!”_

“Eluréd,” Elurín gasped, chest heaving for air. “Where are the stables?”

Eluréd came to a halt and turned to face him, but the darkness passed over his face and form, hiding him from Elurín’s sight. Elurín knew that his brother was there only by the feel of their entwined hands. He looked down, but he could not even see their hands!

He was blind in the darkness. Blind and lost and alone –

Something warm pulsed against his chest, startling Elurín from his despair. _The Silmarils?_ He reached into his robes and felt the smoothness of a Jewel. The third Silmaril, the warm one.

 _I am here,_ the Silmaril sang with a gruff, soft-like tune. _Here I am._

Elurín pulled it from his robes. Its light burst forth in such a marvelous array that the inky blackness retreated, dashing behind pillars and into crevices, fleeing so far that Elurín saw his brother standing at his side, and the whole of the corridor they were in.

“Elurín!” Eluréd cried. “You are right!”

And from his robes, Eluréd withdrew the second Silmaril, letting its light shine forth. Bolstered, Elurín brought out the first Silmaril to join the others. With all three bare and shining, he might pretend that there was no darkness nearby at all!

Yet he could see it, hovering beyond the windows of the house, suffocating the ground, the air, filling the whole sky. “We should be able to find the stables now,” Eluréd said breathlessly.

Elurín nodded emphatically. “What is the fastest way there?”

“I – I cannot tell,” Eluréd said. “I cannot see past the Silmarils’ light.”

Elurín peered ahead. A few pillars lined the corridor, stopping at a balustrade. After that, all he saw was darkness.

The third Silmaril flared momentarily. Was it Elurín’s imagination, or did it strain against his hand?

“What is it?” Eluréd asked.

Elurín tugged his hand back, but the Silmaril pulled against him, keeping his arm stretched out before them. “I think,” he said slowly, “it wants to go forward.”

Eluréd moistened his dry lips. “Well, we had better hurry then! Morgoth may be here soon –”

Even as he spoke, a sudden dread settled in Elurín’s heart. One that stopped his voice and stilled his limbs, filling him with frost. He remembered lying in the snow next to Eluréd’s prone body, all those years ago, numbed with cold and despair and grief.

This was far greater than that. Elurín knew then what was coming – _who_ was coming.

He met Eluréd’s gaze and saw his own fear reflected back at him. There were no other words to say; holding hands through the third Silmaril, they hurried onward, guided by its trembling pull.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's about that time guys! The plan's in motion!! Next chapter, we have an arrival at Fëanáro's house XDDD
> 
> Also, just to help avoid confusion if there's any (and for the next chapter too):  
> First and third Silmaril -- Elurín holds them  
> Second Silmaril -- Eluréd holds it
> 
> Your comments and kudos are all greatly appreciated! <333


	22. Lament of the Silver Stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song featured in this chapter was written to the melody of the Huron Carol. Here’s the link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3D-m-PwKVsM  
> Feel free to listen to the song first so that the melody sticks with you, or play it while reading this chapter’s song, or any other method you’d like :) Just something to note – the Huron Carol has around three verses while this chapter’s song has five, so just replay the melody as needed XDD

Maitimo stumbled through the corridor, guided only by the feel of sturdy walls next to him. As far as he knew, he was a floor above the entrance hall, but whether near or far, he could no longer tell. Everything was shrouded in deep shadow.

“Grandfather!” he cried into the darkness. “Makalaurë? Tyelkormo?”

The only response he heard was the multitude of cries and shouts throughout the house, and within the rest of Formenos.

This darkness … He could not see at all. Never had he experienced this – this blindness, this suffocating cloud of shadow. Even his own body was invisible to him!

What was happening? His heart drummed madly against his ribs. Where were his brothers? Were they alright? They must be. And Finwë, and his men –

And the children …

Maitimo choked back a lump in his throat. “Carnistir! Curufinwë! Where are you? Ambarussat!”

And then he heard something. “Maitimo!” a faint voice cried.

Maitimo quickened his strides as hope leapt in his heart. “Ambarussa? Ambarto?”

“I am here!” his brother called, sounding closer than before.

“Ambarussa?”

“Maitimo –”

He hurtled into something hard. “Oof!” Ambarussa gasped, but before either of them could fall backwards, Maitimo reached out and wrapped his arms around his brother.

“You are alright,” Maitimo rasped, holding Ambarussa close. He could not see his brother at all, but Ambarussa was _here_ with him. Thank the Valar!

“Maitimo, what – what is going on?” Ambarussa breathed, clutching at him in return.

“I do not know.” Maitimo could not shake the pit of fear that yawned in his gut, clawing up his body. He was only certain that this was not good at all.

“Where are the others?” he asked.

“Tyelkormo went hunting,” Ambarussa said. “I think Curufinwë was in the forge, and – I do not know where the others are!”

“What of Grandfather?”

“I did see him,” Ambarussa said suddenly. “Just before the darkness came, I – I saw him leave the armoury, but I do not know what became him after that!” His voice broke.

Maitimo hugged him close even as his own heart raced. “Do not worry. We will find him.”

Holding tight to each other, they eased their way down the corridor. _We will find them,_ Maitimo repeated to himself. _We will._

* * *

“Where is it taking us?” Elurín cried, confused beyond belief as the third Silmaril led him onward.

Eluréd gasped. “The entrance hall is nearby! Look, we just passed the tapestries!”

The entrance hall? But they needed to get to the stables! Elurín barely had time to look. Up ahead was a path that led to a side door of the entrance hall – but it seemed that that was not their destination. The Silmaril tugged his arm, taking him around the corner. Was there not a flight up stairs along that way?

Light flared from the side entrance to the main hall. Not the Silmarils’ light, not even that of a torch or a lamp, but something _wrong._ A backwards and twisted light.

A shout caught Elurín’s attention. Following that was a blood-curdling, most horrifying _hiss_ that Elurín ever heard. All the hairs on his arms and neck stood on end; a scream built in his throat, but it never left him.

Was that – could it be –?

He glanced at Eluréd. His brother’s breathing was shallow; his lips formed a silent word, _“Finwë.”_

Elurín floundered for words. But – the stables –!

 _No._ They had to reach Finwë!

He hardly felt the Silmaril’s tugging. Eluréd hugged him, and Elurín returned it just as tightly. He could not believe what he was doing, but at the same time, he knew that it had to be done.

 _Ada, stay with me,_ he prayed.

Hand in hand, Elurín and Eluréd dashed for the side entrance. Yet they were not quick enough to see the source of a sudden, bellowing _clang_ that shook Elurín all over.

Something flew past them as they entered the main hall.

Elurín bit back a cry; there was a horrid crunch as the something – someone – fell to the floor, not several feet away. The Silmarils’ light stretched out, and in their glow Elurín saw an Elf. Dark hair splayed out over the floor, framing a pale, familiar face.

He rushed forward without thinking and fell to his knees at Finwë’s side. “My lord!”

Eluréd was there too, shaking Finwë’s shoulder. Finwë groaned, and Elurín wheezed with joy and shock and the impossibility of it all – he was _alive!_ The High King was still alive!

Blood seeped from Finwë’s temple, soaking his hair and trickling down the side of his face. Eluréd gathered Finwë in his arms and set his head on his lap. “My lord, wake up!”

Finwë coughed; his lips shone red. Aside from the injury at his head, Elurín saw no other bloodstains on his body. That was a good sign … hopefully.

Eluréd looked up over Elurín’s shoulder. In the strange light, he looked as a wraith under the moon. Elurín sucked in a sharp breath and turned.

The source of unholy light stood at the far end of the hall, right at the doorway. Elurín caught the impression of a towering Elf-like figure, robed in black smoke that twisted with red fire. Horror seeped into Elurín’s heart, stealing away the last bit of warmth in his body.

Morgoth. _Melkor._ Then again, what was the difference?

The Vala’s pale eyes burned with the coldest of flames, bright as icy stars. He stepped forward, and the floor blackened around his shadowy feet. In his hand was an obsidian hammer; a heart of fire blazed in the centre, and Elurín felt its heat even from this distance. _Grond._

“Children,” Finwë wheezed, ever so softly. “Run.”

Elurín could not move even if he wanted to. He was rooted to the floor, trapped by Melkor’s mere presence, and surrounded by darkness. Only the Silmarils’ light kept him from succumbing … 

He blinked. _The Silmarils._

A rumbling voice filled the hall at that moment. Elurín did not make out the words, but the voice reverberated through the air, the walls, even Elurín’s very being.

 _The Silmarilli,_ Melkor boomed. _How fitting that you bring them here to me._

Elurín shrunk back, feeling Finwë at his side and Eluréd’s hand against his own.

“Run,” Finwë whispered hoarsely. “Go!”

Eluréd shook his head wordlessly. He gently laid Finwë down and stumbled to his feet, and for a split second Elurín thought that his brother planned to defy Melkor. A young star against the yawning dark.

Elurín did not know whether to laugh or scream, or both. Yet he saw the darkness roil behind Eluréd, and his heart leapt into his throat.

“Eluréd!” he shouted. Jumping up, Elurín pushed his brother out of the way, and not a moment too soon.

A tendril of darkness shot out from the pools around them, passing so close to Elurín’s outstretched hand that his skin tingled terribly. His arm snapped back and a sharp pain lanced through his wrist.

In that fleeting moment, Elurín saw the gleam of four globe-like eyes shining through the shadows. Another horrible _hiss_ seeped through the hall.

The third Silmaril tumbled from his slackened hand. Elurín watched with growing horror as it rolled toward Melkor. And the Vala, half-smiling with satisfaction, stooped to pick up the brilliant Jewel.

Did it burn him? Elurín could not tell. He could not focus. He huddled close to Eluréd, standing above Finwë’s feebly stirring body, clutching the first Silmaril close to his heart. The third Silmaril shone through Melkor’s fingers, still blazing with white fire.

 _Very good,_ the Vala said. _Now, give me the others, and I might leave this house untouched._

Elurín swallowed hard. What were they to do now? With Melkor on one side and Ungoliant on the other, how would they get out of this?

He looked up at Melkor; the Valar started towards them, death in one hand and pure light in the other. And behind them – or all around them in the darkness – Elurín felt Ungoliant’s presence, taut as a bowstring, ready to leap at any notice. Why had she not moved yet? Was she waiting for Melkor’s word? Or was it the Silmarils’ light that made her hesitate?

Many thoughts and images flashed through Elurín’s mind. Maedhros, his adar; Maglor and Amras, his uncles; Ada Dior and Nana Nimloth, little Elwing, and homely Menegroth; Laephebron and the other residents of Amon Ereb; and the beautiful green that spread out over the hill. Would Elurín and Eluréd ever see it again?

_Ada, please – what do I do?_

_Child,_ the first Silmaril sang.

Elurín gave a start and glanced down at the Jewel in his hand. All at once, the Silmaril’s light filled his vision, enveloping him until he could see nothing else.

 _You sing,_ the Silmaril chimed. _I listen._

Elurín tightened his hold on it. What would happen if he did? Surely nothing else could hurt him and Eluréd now …

And, he decided with sudden conviction, if this would be his last moment alive, what better way than to end it in song?

Elurín grasped his brother’s hand and took a deep breath. His voice came out all wobbly and quiet, yet at the first sound of his song, the Silmaril brightened eagerly.

_My father weeps upon the sill_

_Within the moonlit night._

_Beyond the window is a world_

_That falls beyond my sight._

_O Father will you take me there,_

_Into that new world_

_Young and fair?_

_O my heart wearies now;_

_Darkness my shroud_

_That the light can’t shine through._

As Elurín sang, the Silmaril’s light shifted this way and that, revealing fleeting images. Stone walls studded with jewels; worn, red cloaks embroidered with gold; rustling grass in wide fields.

Memories surfaced in Elurín’s mind, not just of his home and family, but of all the history he had learned.

The Silmaril pulsed with mingled curiosity and uncertainty. Could it see what Elurín thought of? He did not know how the Jewels worked, but he hoped it would not steal his memories, at least!

As Elurín sang, he heard his brother join in, harmonizing faintly. Eluréd squeezed Elurín’s fingers with reassurance.

_His voice would paint a vivid tale_

_Of forests deep and green._

_O how I wished to travel there_

_And see what he had seen._

_I took his hand and put my ear_

_Upon his breast_

_Where beat his fear …_

_O my heart wearies now;_

_Darkness my shroud_

_That the light can’t shine through._

_My father, O my father dear,_

_All robed with beauty fair._

_Within your face I saw the grief_

_That carries on the air._

_But lo! Your eyes, there shone a light_

_Of many stars_

_So sweet and bright!_

_O my heart wearies now;_

_Darkness my shroud_

_That the light can’t shine through._

The Silmaril grew brighter as though in response to the music. Elurín could not see his surroundings at all, nor the people around him.

That was just as well. Better to focus on the memory of his ada than on the face of his impending doom … 

As Elurín sang, the light shifted and swirled about him, and it seemed to him that his song took shape in the Silmaril’s bright gaze. Was that his ada’s face, half-formed in the light? If he reached out, would he feel his ada’s soft hair? 

_My parents flew across the sea,_

_My sister to the shore;_

_But to the northern land we went,_

_Our hearts and strength so poor._

_The white snow touched our cheeks so soft_

_While strong hands bore us_

_High aloft._

_O my heart wearies now;_

_Darkness my shroud_

_That the light can’t shine through._

Elurín’s eyes burned with tears. The Silmaril quivered, singing softly, though he hardly cared why it did so. Was Melkor not going to smote them with Grond? Perhaps it would not hurt too much. And afterward, Elurín and Eluréd could go to Mandos … Maybe they might be sent back to their own time, and they would find their parents in the Halls …

The Silmaril suddenly withdrew its light. Elurín stood there, blinking rapidly, as the entrance hall reformed around him. His brother’s grip on his hand was now painfully crushing. Elurín looked to his side and saw Eluréd there, holding the second Silmaril in an upraised hand.

It was then that Elurín saw the large globe of light that the Jewels cast all around them. Was this what halted Melkor and Ungoliant?

Finwë still breathed at their feet; his eyes were open, thank the Valar, and he gazed up at them with something akin to awe.

“Steady, now,” Finwë whispered.

Elurín took a deep breath. His grief retreated to the back as he remembered what they faced. Why was he thinking of death? They were not yet dead!

He turned back to Melkor. The Dark Vala was only a faint outline on the other side of the Silmarils’ shield. At least, Elurín hoped it was a shield they made.

 _Your song does nothing for me,_ Melkor said with a hint of amusement. _But I will send you to your kin soon enough, little lark._

Elurín’s heart leapt into his throat. Raising his Silmaril high above, he cried,

_And now for you, O Silmaril,_

_This song you wish to hear:_

_I sing now for your brightest flame_

_To blind my deepest fear!_

_I know you see him standing there,_

_Awash with hatred_

_Dark and fair …_

_Will you shine on me now?_

_Trees’ light unshroud_

_That he shall not break through!_

The Silmaril vibrated in Elurín’s palm, pulsing, growing with warmth.

At the same moment, Melkor raised Grond above his head and brought it down upon them. Elurín and Eluréd fell to the ground into Finwë’s arms; if nothing else, Elurín thought, at least he would remember his brother and the High King’s embrace in his last moments.

Just as Grond connected with the globe of light, the Silmarils exploded with such powerful brilliance that Elurín thought himself blinded. The hammer did not break through, but a tremor rocked throughout the hall. Elurín clung to Eluréd and Finwë; he heard Melkor’s cry, and, squinting through the array of white fire, he saw the third Silmaril in the Vala’s hand, bright as the still-unmade sun and arrayed with dazzling colours. Melkor snarled aloud, and Elurín realized then that the Silmaril _burned_ him. 

_Burn him,_ the first Silmaril echoed. _Burn him!_

The third Silmaril flared so strongly in response that Elurín turned his gaze away. Melkor’s roar filled the hall, and for a split second, Elurín thought he would be torn in two by the sound. He buried his face in Finwë’s shoulder, and Finwë held him close with feeble strength.

 _Blind her!_ the first Silmaril chimed in Elurín’s hand. _Blind the many eyes!_

An unearthly screech filled the hall. Elurín clamped his hands over his ears, looking around: he saw nothing, but the darkness around them roiled and twisted, retreating from them.

Melkor stepped back as the Ungoliant’s shadows passed over him. Elurín still could not see his face and was glad for it.

 _Do not look,_ his Silmaril sang gently. Elurín gave a start; its song was different! No longer cold and harsh … Now it was softer in a … youthful way.

 _Send them away,_ the Jewel continued. _Away, away!_

The Silmarils burned with a fierce light. Elurín shut his eyes against the glare, waiting, waiting for anything …

And then there was nothing but silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, that was a battle! I hope you guys enjoyed it! :D Now we can all take a breath loll  
> In case y'all were wondering, Elurin's song is about Dior. And I'll list the Silmarils out again, just in case:  
> First and third Silmaril -- Elurín holds them (but lost the third to Melkor)  
> Second Silmaril -- Eluréd holds it
> 
> Your comments and kudos are all greatly appreciated! <333


	23. The Aftermath

The first Silmaril sat in Elurín’s hand, warm and docile, softly singing in the silence of the entrance hall.

Elurín gazed at it for a moment, then glanced at his brother. Eluréd held the second Silmaril. It too sang quietly in harmony with the first. After so much singing and noise and screeching, this quiet was … unnerving.

_ We lost the third, _ Elurín thought numbly.  _ The third Silmaril is gone. _

The globe of light around them had long since faded away. Finwë’s head rested on Eluréd’s lap; Elurín pressed his sleeve to the elder’s bleeding temple, and Finwë smiled weakly.

_ He is alive, _ Elurín thought to himself, still trying to digest it.  _ He did not die. Did we … succeed? _

Finwë stirred, then winced in pain. The sound of his soft gasp startled Elurín; they had to find a healer! Who knew what other wounds the elder bore?

Before Elurín could move, Finwë laid a hand over his. “Now,” he murmured hoarsely, “I see that you – you were right … Lindelen.”

Eluréd furrowed his brow in question, but Elurín could not find the strength to respond.

“You are – truly – from the future?” Finwë breathed.

Elurín managed a nod. There was no use in denying it now. Finwë had seen his words come true, and now … Maybe they would have a better chance of changing more of the future.

Distant sounds caught Elurín’s attention: faint calls, shouting, thundering footsteps. Was somebody coming?

Elurín blinked slowly and turned to look for the door. His vision blurred, and his head felt all fuzzy, though he did not know why. He thought of a soft bed waiting for him somewhere. How he would like to sleep …

The sounds got louder until they became a flood, filling the hall with voices and footsteps. Elurín shifted closer to Eluréd and Finwë, holding the first Silmaril close to his breast.

"Grandfather," he heard someone call, and the cry was taken up.  _ "Grandfather!" _

"Lord Finwë!"

"The High King is injured –"

Elurín was jostled and pushed; someone – or more than just one – lifted Finwë from Eluréd's lap, taking him away.

_ No, _ Elurín wanted to say.  _ Do not go. Come back! _

His voice escaped him. He was too tired to form a word. He tried looking around, but he could hardly recognize one Elf from the other. Their features were all fuzzy.

"The Silmarils," a harsh voice said suddenly. "How do they have it?"

_ "Thieves!" _

"Stop – leave them alone!"

Elurín recognized Finwë’s voice, weakened as it was. Heart pounding, he reached for Eluréd's hand and found his wrist. His brother remained nearby, at least.  _ Do not take him away. _

“My lord?” someone questioned.

“They have done us – great service,” Finwë said, no doubt forcing the words out through his pain. “Do not hinder them.”

At that moment, something big and red filled Elurín’s fuzzy vision. "Hrávelen? Lindelen? Are you alright?"

That voice was familiar. Elurín peered at the figure as though through a veil. Was that …?

"Mm-Maitimo?" Eluréd murmured.

"Yes, I am here." The Silmarils' light shone upon Maitimo's face, bringing him to some clarity in Elurín's sight. “Can you stand?”

Eluréd moved first, setting his Silmaril on the floor and wobbling to his feet. Elurín did the same after a moment. He felt as though he waded through a marsh. His limbs were heavy and he teetered on his feet. Only Maitimo’s steadying hand kept him upright.

“Where is the third?” someone demanded. Tyelkormo?

“How did they get them …?”

“The armoury was not guarded …”

“Melkor,” Eluréd murmured, and all the other voices went quiet. “Took the third.”

Murmurs rumbled past Elurín’s ears. Discontent. Anger. Fear of what Fëanáro would say or do.

_ But Finwë is alive, _ he thought. Yes, that was a good thing.

He could not hear Finwë’s voice anymore, in fact. They must have taken him away to be healed, whoever  _ they _ were. Elurín hoped Finwë would get better.

“Nevermind that now,” Maitimo said. “You need to rest. Come, I will carry you.”

Elurín might have hesitated had he not been so tired. He stepped closer to Maitimo, draping an arm around his neck, and laid his head on Maitimo’s shoulder. Eluréd did the same on Maitimo’s other side, eyes fluttering closed.

Before Elurín could close his own eyes, the Silmarils flared upon the floor, and their light stretched out to the ceiling. Cries erupted around them; even Maitimo gasped, turning his face away.

The last thing Elurín saw was Maitimo’s face, red hair turned bright auburn, before the Silmarils’ light encompassed everything.

* * *

One moment, the children lay exhausted in Maitimo’s arms. What they were doing here – with the Silmarils, of all things! – Maitimo did not know. He planned to ask them once they were well-rested.

And yet, in the next moment – one filled with brilliant, white light – they were gone.

Maitimo stared at the empty spot where the children had stood, not a few seconds before. The Silmarils dimmed, pulsing gently upon the floor.

“Maitimo,” Makalaurë breathed. “The children …”

“Where are they?” Tyelkormo demanded, stepping closer with a wary air.

“They were there,” Ambarussa insisted. “I saw them!”

“Well, they are not there anymore,” Carnistir remarked, an uneasy gleam in his eyes.

Maitimo could not answer. He had no answer. The children had stood here, right here! The Silmarils had blinded them all only for a moment … He had felt their arms around him, but it disappeared somewhere in the light …

Huan came forward, dipping his nose to the floor and sniffing at the Silmarils. He whined softly.

Maitimo swallowed. He – he would have to think on this later. Right now, they still had things to do.

He got to his feet. “Ambarrusat, go to Grandfather. Stay at his side. Carnistir, take your messengers to Taniquetil and tell Atar of what has happened. Curufinwë, take the Silmarils back to their safe.” Maitimo dared not take them himself, after all. “The rest of you, come with me. We must see what damage Melkor did to the fortress.”

Even as Maitimo turned to leave the house, his right hand tingled. He frowned and glanced down at his palm, but saw nothing wrong with it. Why, then, did it feel as though a hundred ants crawled over his skin?

He shook his head. That did not matter now. They had to see to the fortress’ defence, Finwë’s recovery, and … The children’s disappearance, if they could even find an explanation for it.

His heart drummed against his ribs. The odd feeling filled him, quiet but present, following him out of the house.

_ Hrávelen, Lindelen … Where have you gone? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is really short, and I'm not completely happy with it - I feel that there are some things missing lol. But the twins have disappeared, and who knows what'll happen next? XDD  
> I'm also thinking of releasing the next chapter sometime this week, maybe Thursday or Friday, but it's not quite finished yet. So we'll see how that turns out!
> 
> Your comments and kudos are all greatly appreciated! <333


	24. A New Course of Events I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Sorry this took longer than usual to post. I found that I still needed to add a few things. Thanks for your patience, guys!)
> 
> In which the author, myself, tries to take on a sort of Silm-writing style and isn't sure if she succeeded or not.  
> Also, I know y'all were excited about Feanaro's reaction, and I might as well just say that you'll probably be disappointed. I wanted to include a scene with him after you mentioned it, but at that point, I was running out of time and steam, so I decided to just stick with my outline.

Elurín floated through space and past stars, across oceans and lands, into light and dark and light again. His hand tightened around Eluréd’s, and together they travelled, though he did not know where.

The Silmarils’ light followed them, curling around Elurín’s torso and limbs, shielding them from whatever lay beyond – or so Elurín thought.

A heartbeat passed, or perhaps an eternity, and the light parted to reveal a scene. A vision of an event, permitted to him by the Silmarils, maybe. Elurín did not know for sure. Yet he watched as though through the curtain of a dream.

He saw people standing, striding, speaking to each other. He saw travellers go this way and that, through cities and up mountains. He recognized some of the people there, but as the visions went on, many appeared that he did not know.

And yet he did know them, if only from what his adar said, or his tutor during history lessons.

As he and Eluréd watched the proceedings, Elurín realized that this was, in fact, the history of Arda. His heart leapt, beating with frenzied hope and fear. Would they see how they managed to change Arda’s events? Would it all be good, or were there some things beyond their control?

The light of the Silmarils danced, and he watched on.

*

*

* 

Finwë lived, yet there was more damage to Finwë than he saw outwardly; broken ribs, not to mention the nasty wound to his head. He asked for the mysterious children, but no one could answer. The children were nowhere to be found, and a restlessness fell upon Fëanáro’s kin.

Their memory of the children’s faces began to blur. The sound of their voices grew faint in their ears. Already they struggled to remember the children’s names. Even Finwë ceased to ask for them after a while, forgetting all moments spent with the children.

Maitimo remembered them better than his kin could, yet even his memory began to fail. There was a wild one. A gentle one. But who was who? Was their hair white or silver … or both? He struggled to bring them to mind, but could not.

His stomach twisted as a new thought came to him. Had the children truly existed at all?

By the time word came of Fëanáro’s arrival, the children were only a faint memory in Maitimo’s mind.

_A wild one. A gentle one. Do not forget._

Fëanáro returned to Formenos, all fire and fear, and gladness to see his kin alive. The loss of the third Silmaril angered him, and fury rose in his heart against Melkor – now called Morgoth. “If the Valar will not stop him,” he said, “who shall?”

It was he who decided to go. He and his sons, and even those of his people who listened, which was many.

No dreadful Oath was sworn _,_ but Fëanáro did swear to make Morgoth pay for all that he had done, both to Finwë and for stealing the Silmaril. Fëanáro wanted the Silmaril back. He wanted Morgoth dead, and out of love and loyalty, his seven sons swore to see their vengeance realized.

Nolofinwë’s children went with Fëanáro, more out of love for their half-cousins than for him. Nolofinwë followed, and so did Arafinwë, and his children too. With Fëanáro went the two remaining Silmarils, singing softly and bright with pure flame. Maitimo often stood near the Silmarils’ casket like a self-appointed guardian.

The hosts halted at Alqualondë. Though Finwë remained at Formenos to heal, Fëanáro bore a letter from him to Olwë. A plea for aid, for safe passage to Middle-earth.

Olwë could not deny his friend, especially when Finwë included word of Elwë’s return. _A chance to hear from your brother,_ Finwë wrote. _Would you not take it? Let them pass and learn how he fares._

And thus there was no Kinslaying, for Olwë lent the swan-ships to Fëanáro and his host, and they set sail across the sea. Nolofinwë and his children went also, yet Arafinwë’s heart ached for Valinor, and he decided to stay. After all, the Noldor remaining in Tirion needed a leader. Nor could he find it in himself to leave Eärwen, his love.

He stayed and was later named the High King of the Noldor in Aman.

Nolofinwë’s host did not have to cross the Helcaraxë as there were many swan-ships at their disposal. Fëanáro reached Losgar first, and it was there that his host burned the ships. They would not risk Morgoth’s forces taking them, after all. Nor did Ambarto burn with the ships, for the deed was done immediately, giving them no time to rest.

Fëanáro and his sons passed on first without waiting for Nolofinwë’s host. Maitimo did not like this; he wished to wait, and he was not the only one to want so, but Fëanáro would not have it.

The vision came close so that Elurín hovered near to where Maitimo stood. The Silmarils’ casket sat on the ground between two guards; the Jewels sang softly, trying to gather attention. Maitimo frowned and glanced at the casket, but turned away.

Elurín did not know what it meant, only that he wished someone had stayed and listened.

Fëanáro’s host moved to Mithrim and made their encampment there. Not long after, Nolofinwë’s host arrived in Lammoth, along with the rising Moon. It was there that they fought their first battle. Elf after Elf fell; Arakáno, brave and alone, dashed forward and cut a path through the Orcs’ ranks, slaying their captain. Yet the Orcs surrounded Arakáno and killed him.

At the same time, far away in Mithrim, the Silmarils lamented with a throbbing cry.

Nolofinwë and his host won the battle. They buried their dead, and brave Arakáno, and from there passed into Mithrim even as the Sun first rose.

Meanwhile, Fëanáro’s host fought a battle of their own. Morgoth’s forces attacked them, and thus began the _Dagor-nuin-Giliath,_ the Battle Under the Stars. Fëanáro pressed forward despite winning the battle, thinking to go all the way to Angband’s gates. The Balrogs assailed him, mortally wounding him, and his seven sons carried him away.

Upon the mountaintop, Fëanáro turned to ask after making his sons swear to seek revenge. All of them swore, their faces pale and drawn in the sunlight. Now Maitimo took up the mantle of High King from his father.

* * *

Back at Mithrim’s camp, in the privacy of his tent, Maitimo opened the Silmarils’ casket and held up the Jewels. They were his now, inherited from Fëanáro. What was he to do with them?

They sang softly to him with an amiable tune. Elurín drew close in his vision; he saw the furrow between Maitimo’s brows, the frown on his face, the gleam of recognition as he listened to the Silmarils.

 _Hello,_ one of them chimed. That was the second Silmaril. The one that Eluréd once held.

Maitimo was surprised. Elurín could see that much, at least. “Do you know me?” he murmured.

 _Yes,_ the other Silmaril sang, quieter than its kin. _Russandol._

Maitimo felt that there was something he ought to remember, yet his memory of the children had faded to a wisp of shadow in his mind.

Soon after, Morgoth’s embassy arrived to feign surrender of the remaining Silmaril. Maitimo planned to leave the other two behind, yet the bold one flared.

 _Russandol,_ it sang.

Maitimo hesitated. In the end, he brought them with him, yet Elurín sensed that he was reluctant.

His reluctance was wiped out when Morgoth’s embassy attacked. For a heartbeat, Elurín thought Maitimo would be captured –

The Silmarils burst forth with light, blinding the Orcs and Balrogs, giving Maitimo and his party enough time to escape.

 _Fly, fly,_ the softer Silmaril cried.

Maitimo escaped back to Mithrim’s encampment. With _both_ hands.

Elurín could hardly contain his joy.

Within his tent, Maitimo held a Silmaril in each hand. He did not know what to make of them, and yet … They did help him. He could not let that go unsaid.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

The first Silmaril hummed. _Welcome._

Its song soothed Maitimo, calming his still-pounding heart. From then on, he listened to them as they sang of green glades and glittering caverns, warm hearths and sun-warmed air.

The bold Silmaril he named _Hrávelen._ And for the softer Silmaril, _Lindelen._

He did not know why he chose these names, only that they fit the Silmarils better than any other name.

* * *

Nolofinwë and his host arrived at Mithrim shortly after. There was no need for Findekáno to save Maitimo from Thangorodrim, for Maitimo was now safe in Mithrim, High King of the Noldor in Beleriand. Yet the Silmarils remained in his mind, and he remembered the toll they had taken on Fëanáro. Fear entered Maitimio’s heart at the thought that he might suffer the same fate, and decided that the Noldorin King ought to be free of the Silmarils’ presence. Therefore he waived his claim of kingship to Nolofinwë despite his brothers’ protests.

Afterwards, Maitimo led his people east to Hithlum, passing Doriath in the process, and there his memory of Eluréd and Elurín all but disappeared before he could see their ancestor’s face.

King Thingol allowed an alliance with Maitimo, his heart softened by Finwë and Olwë’s words that were brought from Valinor. To Doriath went Findaráto and Artanis also, and there Artanis fell in love with Celeborn, Thingol’s kinsman. Yet Maitimo did not stay for long, and he settled in Himring while his brothers took up posts in East Beleriand.

The Silmarils remained with Maitimo in his fortress, kept safe in their casket, singing gently all the while.

 _Maitimo. Russandol._ They paused, then continued their song. _Maedhros._

Thingol did not ban Quenya. There was no reason to, after all. Names were still translated, of course – Maitimo now went by the name of Maedhros, and the Noldor spoke Quenya only among each other.

Elurín did not know what this would mean for Arda’s history. No Kinslayings so far, no angry Elven clans pit against each other … Might things truly turn out well in the end?

His visions continued on. Turgon built Gondolin and Finrod built Nargothrond. The Edain arrived in Beleriand and settled down with Finrod’s help. Alliances were made, especially between Fingolfin and his dear friend Hador.

And then the Dagor Bragollach began. The Noldor rallied to Maedhros, he who bore the bright Silmarils to battle. All Orcs who came near were blinded by the Jewels’ light. Yet Maedhros could not be everywhere at once, and they still suffered heavy losses, with Fingolfin counted among them.

For in his grief, Fingolfin rode to Angband and challenged Morgoth to a duel. He fell there, having dealt many blows to his great foe, and was swiftly borne away by Thorondor of the Eagles.

Húrin and Huor entered Gondolin as Elurín remembered. Beren, son of Barahir, lost his people and company, and roamed the darkening wilderness in growing despair.

And thus he met Lúthien within the borders of Doriath.

Against all odds, and at the cost of fair Finrod’s life, Beren and Lúthien recovered the third Silmaril from Morgoth. The moment Beren closed his hand over it, Maedhros’ hand tingled far away in Himring, and his Silmarils burned bright.

Even after Beren and Lúthien returned from Mandos, Thingol still kept the Silmaril in his care with hardly any intention of giving it away. Celegorm and Curufin were the most outspoken on reclaiming it, and the Fëanorians sent a message to Thingol. Yet Thingol refused, both in anger of Celegorm and Curufin’s treatment of Lúthien, and his desire for the Silmaril, even going so far as to dissolve the alliance between himself and the Fëanorians.

For the third Silmaril, having stayed for years in Morgoth’s presence, now sang with power and alluring promise.

Maedhros delayed going after the Silmaril, partly in satisfaction knowing that the third Silmaril was safe, and also to avoid further damaging the ties between him and Thingol. At times he turned to his Silmarils and asked for guidance.

 _Not yet,_ Hrávelen chimed. _Not yet time._

Maedhros trusted them, though he did not fully know why.

The Nirnaeth Arnoediad. The battle that Elurín feared most, yet the one that he desperately hoped would alter for the better.

Maedhros and his forces prepared for their departure to Anfauglith. There Uldor the accursed followed at Maedhros’ side, with plans of treachery in his mind. The Silmarils, on the other hand, hung at Maedhros’ hip in a case specially forged by Curufin. They pulsed with unease, and Maedhros could not hush them.

Even as Uldor’s men brought false warnings of assault from Angband, the Silmarils flared out with a sudden cry, and their light was too much for Uldor and his men to behold. Maedhros’ heart filled with foreboding; even as he faced Uldor, Lindelen sang, _Away, away!_

Uldor heard, and with sudden fear, he drew his blade and attacked Maedhros. It was Maglor who slew Uldor from behind, and Maedhros rallied his forces and scattered Uldor’s men. But now the foreboding in his heart was great indeed, and stirring the Noldor he led them to Anfauglith, where already the fifth battle was underway.

Fingon and Turgon fought there alongside Hurin and Huor, and Gondolin’s forces; Morgoth’s armies assailed them from all sides, and Gothmog, Lord of Balrogs, separated Fingon from his kin and fought him.

Maedhros watched from afar as another Balrog cast a thong of fire about Fingon, and he spurred his steed towards them. Before Gothmog could bring his axe down upon Fingon’s head, Maedhros held aloft the Silmarils: bright Hrávelen and Lindelen shone forth across both foes and allies, and the Balrogs were blinded.

Thus Fingon broke free just as Maedhros arrived, and together they wounded Gothmog and defeated the other Balrog. Yet Fingon was grievously hurt, and Maedhros bore him away within a wall of their allies.

Turgon escaped to Gondolin. Huor died, and Hurin was taken captive to Morgoth. Elurín did not know whether to grieve or rejoice; though the losses of the Eldar and Edain were not as great as he once heard, there were still many who fell, and his heart ached for them all.

Fingon healed in time from his wounds, and he soon desired to reclaim Hithlum from the Easterlings. Yet his forces were not enough, even with those Noldor and Hadorians who still remained. Thus he and Maedhros fortified their position both in Himring and Caranthir’s fortress on Amon Ereb. Any scattered survivors of the war fled to those fortresses, and gradually they built their strength.

Then came Túrin, and through his journey brought about the fall of Nargothrond, and afterwards by Húrin, Doriath. Thingol fell, and his Silmaril returned to Beren and Lúthien, who now dwelled in Tol Galen with their young son, Dior. Lúthien wore the Silmaril, yet they resisted its alluring song, for their shared love shone brighter than any jewel, and Dior was protected.

Yet when Dior became king of Doriath, he received the Silmaril upon his parents’ death and wore it about his neck. Far away in Himring, where Maedhros worked to strengthen the Noldor’s position against Morgoth, Hrávelen and Lindelen sang gladly.

Soon after, Maedhros and his brothers got word that Dior now held the third Silmaril. Celegorm stirred his brothers to go and reclaim the Jewel, yet Maedhros hesitated and turned to his Silmarils for guidance.

“What should I do?” he murmured.

 _Let him be,_ Hrávelen sang, flaring with light for a moment. 

Lindelen, on the other hand, chimed a gentle tune. Its light warmed Maedhros’ face. _Trust._

And so Maedhros decided that the alliance with Doriath should be renewed, though not all his brothers were content, least of all Celegorm.

*

*

*

_Eluréd,_ Elurín said amidst the stars. _Why did they forget us?_

 _I do not know,_ Eluréd replied. _But … we never existed in the past. Or, we were never supposed to. Perhaps that is why._

That did make sense, if only a little. Elurín was too tired to think deeply about it. All he wanted now was to return home, whether to Doriath or Amon Ereb, he did not know. But he wanted to see his family again.

As if knowing his thoughts, the visions shifted from open skies to glittering caves, and Elurín found himself looking upon Menegroth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anybody who's wondering, if I didn't mention an event that took place in canon -- ie. the Feast of Reuniting; Aegnor and Andreth; Maedhros giving a helm to Fingon and Fingon giving it to Hador because it's waayy too big for him; Hurin and Huor leaving Gondolin and keeping it secret; all of Turin's story's events; etc. etc. etc. then you can be assured that it DID happen in this timeline. I only (mostly) stuck to the events that were changed and how it affected people.
> 
> Here's a general summary in case my experimental Silm-writing style bombed for y'all, or my organization was confusing ^^;;  
> \- The Oath was edited  
> \- There was no Doom of Mandos (or at least not as drastic as that)  
> \- There was no Kinslaying at Alqualonde  
> \- Fingolfin's people didn't cross the Grinding Ice  
> \- Amrod didn't burn  
> \- Maedhros didn't get captured + tortured + lose his right hand  
> \- Thingol didn't ban Quenya  
> \- Thingol made an alliance with the Feanorians  
> \- Fingon didn't die at the Fifth Battle  
> \- Himring wasn't abandoned
> 
> Hope that helps! Your comments and kudos are all greatly appreciated! <333


	25. A New Course of Events II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, I have a new Tumblr account now! You can find me at @arlenianchronicles there :D I post art and fic/chapter updates!  
> (Also, sorry about the super long chapter length; I hope it's not too much!)
> 
> Secondly, something I think I ought to explain is my headcanon for the Silmarils, which I wish I'd developed more so that it makes better sense ^^;;  
> Essentially, they learn through observation of the people in contact with them, or take a piece of that person with them. I suppose it's like Frodo being affected by the Ring, or Harry Potter getting all riled up from the Horcruxes, but it's the OTHER way around for the Silmarils.  
> That's what happened to the two Silmarils during the twins' fight with Morgoth: the Silmarils learned something from / were influenced by the twins, which is why they guide Maedhros around now.  
> So you can imagine what it'd be like for the third Silmaril, who has been with Morgoth for years XDDD  
> I hope that makes sense!! Thanks for reading, guys. Next time I'll make sure to interweave my headcanons into my stories better ^^;;;

The Silmarils’ light danced around Elurín and Eluréd, taking them far and away through the stars. Elurín watched with a rapidly pounding heart as he saw the throne hall of Menegroth. It was all so clear and vivid, as though he was truly present there and not seeing it through a dream-like veil.

Stone pillars up to the high ceiling, sculpted in the shape of trees with elegant, outstretched branches, and carrying a multitude of jewels for leaves. The floor shone clear and polished, and the hall itself was so vast that one would think it could hold the whole of Doriath. In fact, many of the Sindar gathered there, murmuring to each other and glancing toward the main doors of the hall.

Upon a dais on the hall’s far side stood Thingol and Melian’s thrones, yet it was not Thingol and Melian who now sat there. Elurín’s heart stuttered and clenched as he looked upon the achingly familiar faces of Dior and Nimloth. _Ada and Nana._

Elurín wanted to cry at the sight of them. He could feel his sobs bubbling up his throat, seizing through his chest and burning his eyes. Dior sat on his throne, robed in midnight blue and crowned with white flowers. About his neck hung the third Silmaril, basking his face in glorious light.

He must have looked magnificent to all who gathered there, yet Elurín could not help but notice how the Silmaril’s light cast steep shadows under his ada’s eyes; his skin stretched taught across his fine-boned face; his knuckles turning white upon the armrests of his throne.

Aside from that, he was the picture of authority. At his side sat Nimloth, and she looked no less strong nor weary than he. Her silver-white hair hung around her like curtains of shimmering water, and her pale eyes gleamed.

On Nimloth’s lap sat a little girl, smaller than a toddler. A curtain of raven-dark hair hung to her shoulders, and her pale eyes shone with youthful innocence. Elwing tugged on her mother’s hair and chewed it thoughtfully, burbling quietly all the while.

Then Nimloth turned to someone beside her, and as she did so, Elurín felt himself tugged forward until he himself stood at her throne’s side. He and Eluréd.

She looked at him then with a loving smile, and Elurín could hardly breathe.

On his other side was Dior’s throne. He and his brother were positioned between their parents.

He looked at Nimloth again, eagerly taking in her face. Elwing giggled and reached out from Nimloth’s lap, and touched Elurín’s face.

 _“Muindor,”_ she cooed softly. 

Nimloth’s smile widened. “Hush now, _sellig,”_ she said gently, patting Elwing’s back. “Our guests will be here soon.”

Elurín glanced at Eluréd, seeing his own shock and disbelief mirrored back at him. He shut his eyes once, then opened them and turned back to Nimloth. She and Elwing were still there.

This could not be real. Was it? Elurín did not know anymore. This felt like a dream – a strange air covered the place, as though it might evaporate at any moment. 

He looked back at Eluréd and nearly cried, for Dior had turned his head in their direction. Now he stroked Eluréd’s hair with a slim, long-fingered hand.

“Are you uneasy, _ioneg?”_ he asked in a low, soothing voice, one that Elurín had heard many times before and loved so much.

“Who are the guests?” Eluréd asked. It was then that Elurín realized that his brother looked very young. Five years old, perhaps? But they were twelve! How could that be?

Unless … This was still the past. Elurín wanted to cry all over again. He wanted to be home for _real,_ not reliving old moments!

And yet, he did not particularly remember this moment. They were expecting guests? He looked across the hall to the main doors, but nobody had yet arrived.

“Indeed,” Dior replied. “Elven lords from far away. You must be on your best behaviour when they come.”

“Yes, Ada,” Eluréd said.

“Yes, Ada,” Elurín echoed, and his own voice sounded very young, much softer than he was used to!

Then the doors across the hall opened. All noise quieted over the gathered Sindar. Elurín kept very still, holding little Elwing’s hand, watching as a herald came forth and announced:

“Your Majesty, the Lords Maedhros, Maglor, Celegorm, Caranthir, Curufin, Amrod, and Amras have arrived.”

They strode through the doors with as much presence as great waves crashing upon a grey beach. Seeing Maedhros at the head of the group was like a punch in the gut, yet Elurín also felt a rise of childlike curiosity – such as one who has never seen Maedhros before, yet hears of his name here and there.

Maedhros’ bronze face shone smooth and unscarred, sprinkled with golden freckles and set with blue eyes. His deep red hair fell to his waist in wild waves. He looked far more beautiful than Elurín ever remembered, yet it only made his heart twist with old grief.

“Red!” Elwing gasped, pointing. “Red. Yellow.”

Nimloth gently shushed her while keeping a sharp eye on the Fëanorians. All seven of them wore travelling robes embroidered in gold and silver, with dark red cloaks clasped about their shoulders. None of them bore weapons from what Elurín could see.

Yet Maedhros wore something odd: a small, cylindrical case was slung across his shoulder and hung at his hip. Even from this distance, Elurín felt the soft, thrumming presence of the two Silmarils.

The gathered Sindar parted as the Fëanorians approached the dais, murmuring with mingled suspicion and curiosity. Maedhros inclined his head in a near-bow to Dior; Maglor, Amrod, and Amras followed his example, but the others seemed more inclined to sneer or scowl.

Maedhros ignored them. “King Dior,” he began, and his voice carried about the hall, “a star shines upon the hour of our meeting.”

Dior raised his hand in a near-greeting. “Lord Maedhros. I trust your journey here was well.”

When Maedhros nodded in affirmation, Dior continued, “If I understand your intentions rightly, then this ought to be a momentous day for both our peoples.”

“Momentous indeed,” Celegorm said. Ice trickled over Elurín’s skin at the sound of his voice. “Perhaps even old grievances might be reconciled.”

His eyes fixed on the Silmaril at Dior’s throat. Elurín moistened his dry lips, shifting close to Nimloth’s side. Even though the Fëanorians came in peace, there was no peace amongst them.

Dior looked upon Celegorm with a chilling gaze. “Perhaps,” he said coldly. “If proper recompense is offered and accepted. But now I speak to the eldest of these lords and the head of this House.”

Celegorm’s eyes flashed, yet Maedhros spoke before his brother could say more. “My lord, my intentions are true. You let us into your kingdom, so I know you are willing to discuss it at the very least.”

“That is so,” Dior said.

What thoughts passed through his ada’s mind? Elurín could not tell; Dior’s expression was like stone, smoothed and unfeeling, as he gazed down at the Fëanorians.

 _Be careful,_ Elurín desperately wanted to tell him. 

Suddenly, the case that Maedhros wore seemed to glow from within, and Dior’s Silmaril shone forth as though in reply. Its song slithered past Elurín’s ears in a cold whisper, sending a chill down his spine.

Dior did not hesitate to send the Fëanorians to their guest chambers after that.

* * *

The vision shifted. Elurín and Elured stood outside their parents’ bedchamber. Even though Elurín did not remember any such event, he somehow _knew_ that Dior had already held a council with the Fëanorians, and that something important had been discussed. What he did remember, however, was spending the better part of the day in lessons and playing with Elwing before her bedtime.

Now it was time for him and Eluréd to go to sleep, but they were due for a goodnight hug and kiss from Ada and Nana. Yet they had not opened the door; Eluréd made no move to knock, and nor did Elurín, for muffled voices could be heard on the other side.

“I sense no ill will from Maedhros,” Dior said. “The same cannot be said for some of his brothers.”

“They want the Silmaril,” Nimloth murmured.

“Yes.” Dior paused. “I have half a mind to hand it over. And perhaps I would, if not for –”

“For Beren and Lúthien?”

“I keep the Silmaril for us all, not just my mother and father.”

“Oropher is pleased for that, at least.”

Dior sighed heavily.

“But you are still king,” Nimloth continued in a softer tone. “Whatever you decide, I know it will be for the best. Maybe … giving them the Silmaril will be seen as a sign of good faith.”

“Indeed. But I cannot give it to them.”

“Dior –”

“You heard the other two, did you not?” A pause, and then: “Mine is nothing like Maedhros’. Perhaps it once sang as they did when all three were first created, but not anymore. Can you imagine what would happen if they took possession of mine and _listened_ to it?”

Elurín swallowed nervously. His younger self did not understand much of what they said, but his present self shuddered to hear them speak so.

“But you can withstand it,” Nimloth pointed out.

“Only because of Lúthien’s teachings and Melian’s power. I can keep it quiet, at the very least. I can keep you all safe from it.”

 _Is that why,_ Elurín thought, _you look so tired?_

“The Fëanorians are strong,” Nimloth mused. “Surely they could guard themselves with practice?”

“Thingol was strong too,” Dior said grimly. “And he nearly fell under its spell. If not for Melian, I do not know what might have happened.”

A soft sound escaped Elurín’s throat – whether a whimper or a half-formed cry, he did not know. Eluréd hurried to shush him, but it was too late. The voices within the bedchamber grew quiet … And then footsteps came near.

The door swung open. There stood Ada Dior and Nana Nimloth, dressed for bedtime but still wide awake. The Silmaril was gone from Dior’s neck, thank the Valar. 

“My sons!” Dior exclaimed with a wide smile.

Elurín and Eluréd both hurried into his arms as he knelt. His dark hair tickled Elurín’s nose, but he welcomed the feeling, even breathing in his ada’s scent of fresh leaves. Oh, how he wanted to hold Dior forever and never let go!

“Is it time for bed already?” Dior asked, lifting them both up. “Come, let us go.”

Nimloth followed, smiling and stroking Elurín’s hair from his face as they all made their way to the twins’ bedchamber. Nimloth’s fingers were warm; Elurín still felt her touch on his brow even after she withdrew her hand.

Once inside their bedchamber, Dior laid Elurín and Eluréd on the bed and Nimloth tucked them in. Elurín found it hard to tear his gaze away from her. She was so lovely, with skin the colour of polished wood, and eyes that glittered brightly. Once she had finished arranging the blankets around them, she kissed their brows and said, “Goodnight, my sweetling stars.”

She withdrew, only to be replaced by Dior. He sat on the edge of the bed and kissed them. “May Irmo grant you gentle dreams,” he murmured, “and Varda keep your night alight.”

“Ada,” Elurín said softly. He took hold of Dior’s slender hand and clasped it to his chest. “Is everything good?”

If Dior was surprised, he did not show it. He patted Elurín’s chest in a reassuring manner. “Of course, _ioneg._ Why do you ask?”

“You look tired.”

A small, sad smile crossed his ada’s face. “Oh, _ioneg,_ do not worry. I will have a good rest tonight, I promise you.”

“What about the lords from far away?” Eluréd asked suddenly. “Nurse told us. You had a big talk with them. Was it good?”

Five-year-old Elurín might not have noticed how Dior’s eye twitched ever so slightly. But Elurín of the present did, and seeing it worried him. “Yes, beloved. It was a good talk. Now, it is time for you to sleep. Tomorrow will be a new day.”

Elurín settled into a comfortable position and closed his eyes. The warmth of home and of having his parents nearby settled soundly in his chest. Today was good.

And yet – and yet –

It took Elurín a moment to separate his current feelings from his younger self’s. The Fëanorians had come. Maedhros wanted to speak to Dior, and they had spoken at some point. Was it about renewing their alliance? And had Dior accepted?

Elurín could not be sure what would happen if the alliance became a reality. Would it give the Elves another chance to fight Morgoth, or would it end in their destruction? Even with the Fëanorians and Doriath allied together, that surely was not enough for another attack …

But Maedhros had managed thus far. His Silmarils helped him. Would all three Jewels together do more?

Elurín thought back to Dior’s words. He must have referred to the third Silmaril, his own. A chill crawled over Elurín’s skin. Was his ada’s Silmaril truly so … so bad? The way he spoke of it made it sound – malevolent. As though spending much of its time with Morgoth had … corrupted it.

But – the Silmarils could not be corrupted! They were holy and bright, hallowed by Varda and made untouchable by evil – and mortal – hands!

And yet … They did seem to change at times. At least, based on what Elurín had so far seen, both in person and from his visions. Maedhros’ Silmarils sounded much like him and Eluréd when they sang.

Yet, when Elurín had first listened to them in Fëanáro’s armoury, they sounded cold and harsh … Rather like Fëanáro himself. How could that be?

Something must have happened that day in Fëanáro’s house when Morgoth came to attack and Elurín sang to the Silmaril to shield them. Elurín remembered holding the Jewel, remembered thinking of his lessons and Arda’s history, remembered them taking shape in the Silmaril’s light. Had the Silmarils _learned_ from him and Eluréd?

It was a wild theory, but … It would explain how they knew to warn Maedhros of bad things ahead of time. Morgoth’s feigning before Thangorodrim, Uldor the accursed, Fingon’s near-death … It was the best Elurín could come up with, especially when he could not seem to speak with Eluréd at present. They were still relieving a memory, though new it was.

At that moment, a new, horrid thought entered Elurín’s mind, one that made his heart pound terribly. If this was true of the Silmarils, that they could learn from others, then Dior’s Silmaril must have learned from … from …

_Morgoth._

Dior’s words came back to him. _Can you imagine what would happen if they took possession of mine and_ listened _to it?_

His ada knew, then. He knew that his Silmaril was not as pure and holy in song than others might think. And if Elurín understood rightly, Dior used his power to keep the Jewel quiet, as much as he could manage. He was trying to protect them all from it.

But why not just _tell_ the Fëanorians? 

A voice whispered in the back of Elurín’s mind. _Would they believe him? Would Celegorm believe him? Or Curufin and Maglor, and all the others?_

 _Maedhros would,_ Elurín argued. _Maedhros knows that his Silmarils are … different._

_But Maedhros does not remember us. How would he know that they sound like us?_

Elurín’s chest tightened. He had forgotten that Maedhros no longer knew of them. Even in the throne room, when the Fëanorians came before Dior, Maedhros had not looked twice at him and Eluréd.

Elurín hardly rested at all that night even though his younger self slept away peacefully, surrounded by Menegroth’s glittering caves and stone walls. 

* * *

The vision shifted. Elurín and Eluréd no longer lay in bed, but now stood near the sporting grounds.

Lots of Elves trained with weapons there, or took part in sports, or did other things. Elurín recognized Celeborn and Galadriel, and Oropher, and a few others that he did not know the names of.

But he did see a few Fëanorians. Amrod and Amras took part by throwing spears dead-centre at their targets, humouring the other trainees. Celegorm was also there, looking both irritated and unimpressed at the Sindar’s display.

Maedhros stood nearby also, watching with an amused gleam in his eyes. Elurín watched him for a moment, feeling both child-like curiosity and an ache in his heart. No prosthetic covered Maedhros’ right arm. No scars shot through his face. He seemed … quite whole.

As though sensing a gaze upon him, Maedhros turned and spotted them. Elurín squeaked, and Eluréd pulled them both behind a sculpted stone tree.

“He saw us!” Eluréd whispered nervously.

Elurín allowed his younger self’s feelings to fill him in that moment. Shock at being caught, worry that they would get in trouble, and … excitement at seeing new people and new things. The only place he knew beyond Doriath was Lanthir Lamath in Ossiriand – the Waterfall of Echoing Voices. Then again, his memory of that waterfall, and of Dior’s house beside it, was _very_ dim. That was before Dior moved to Doriath, after all. 

But now, these new lords from far away presented something new! What were they like? Where had they travelled? Young Elurín wanted to know, but the lords seemed so frightening!

Especially the tall, red-headed lord who suddenly appeared from behind the pillar –

Elurín squealed and hid behind Eluréd, who stumbled back a bit. _Adar,_ Elurín thought, heart pounding. _My adar._

He still hid behind his brother, peeking out through his silver-white hair.

Maedhros smiled kindly and knelt. “Forgive me. I did not mean to startle you.”

Elurín gazed at him, all shyness and eagerness and kept rooted by Maedhros’ gaze.

The Noldo lord inclined his head to them. “I am Maedhros, a guest of King Dior. You are his sons, yes? I remember seeing you when we first arrived.”

It was Eluréd who nodded slowly. “You had the big talk with Ada?”

“Yes,” Maedhros replied. Then, “May I know your names?”

Eluréd must have warmed to him quickly, for he did not hesitate. “I am Eluréd. This is Elurín. My brother.”

Maedhros’ eyes moved onto Elurín. “Twins, yes? My brothers are the same. You see them there?”

All three of them looked out from behind the pillar at the sporting grounds. Amrod and Amras were now engaged in wrestling with others. The crowds cheered them on, laughing and clapping and placing bets.

“Very tall,” Elurín said, then blushed fiercely with embarrassment.

Maedhros raised his eyebrows, though a smile touched his lips. “They are indeed. One day you will be as tall, I am sure.”

“But you are taller?” Eluréd asked.

“I am.”

“You have stars,” Elurín said, softer than a breath. Goodness, Elurín had forgotten how shy his younger self had been!

“Stars?” Maedhros repeated in polite confusion.

When Elurín said nothing, no doubt for deep embarrassment, Eluréd saved him. “Golden stars,” he explained. “On your face.”

“Ah, I see.” Maedhros’s eyes crinkled, and Elurín found it quite pleasant to look at. In fact, Maedhros had a pleasantly-shaped face. “You mean my freckles, young one.”

“Freckles?” Eluréd echoed.

“As far as I know, only the red-haired Elves have them. My mother does, and so do my twin brothers.”

“Pretty,” Elurín offered.

Maedhros smiled. “Not as pretty as you. Your eyes shine brighter than any star! Did you know that?”

Elurín’s face grew very warm. Yes, he did know. Ada Dior and Nana Nimloth told him and Eluréd at least every other day. But hearing it from a stranger was quite different.

“Now then, where are your parents?” Maedhros asked, “Is there not someone to watch over you?”

“We ran from Nurse,” Eluréd explained. “Too boring.”

Maedhros chuckled softly. “Oh, dear. Then she ought to be looking for you, yes?”

Eluréd gasped. “Ah! We must hide! Quick, quick!”

“Where will you go?”

“To the sports! And you can come with! We will hide behind you.”

That was how they found themselves watching the sports from the sidelines, with Maedhros kneeling between them as they cheered his twin brothers on. Elurín stood so close to Maedhros that their arms nearly touched.

This was good, was it not? Perhaps there was no friendship between Doriath and the Fëanorians, but there was this acquaintanceship, and that was a good start.

And then Dior arrived.

Elurín had forgotten that Celegorm stood near. Now he heard the Noldo lord’s mocking voice, though it was layered over with enough false respect that hardly anyone noticed. Save, perhaps, Dior and Maedhros, and present-Eluréd.

“Ah, King Dior. It is an honour to see you away from the … formalities of our councils.”

Dior inclined his head to Celegorm, neither warm nor chillingly cold. 

“I see you have forgone to wear my father’s Jewel,” Celegorm said, quieter, as Dior stepped by him. Elurín strained his ears to listen better.

“I have,” Dior replied. “I thought it best to leave it off for the sports.”

A sneer slid into Celegorm’s tone. “So you are going to join us, then?”

Elurín now looked to them. Dior eyed Celegorm for a moment, then said, “I am rather engaged at the moment, my lord.”

“Surely you would not object to a friendly duel?” Celegorm asked. “It has been long since I had a good spar, and I do not doubt you would find it refreshing.”

Dior’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. Elurín hoped he would decline; surely no one would fault Dior for moving on, even if Celegorm did mock him for it later. But it seemed that there was something else going on that Elurín did not understand. Was it his father’s pride? Had harsher words been spoken during their council that Dior wished to pay back? Or did Celegorm also suffer from some deeper cut?

Whatever the case, Dior accepted.

Nearly all the Sindar, Ambarussat included, moved to the sidelines to watch. Maedhros stood, looking both exasperated and concerned as Celegorm strode into the ring. Dior followed suit, picking out a simple longsword from the rack of weapons. He seemed oddly withdrawn, weary even, and Elurín could not help but worry.

“Ada!” Eluréd called.

Dior looked up, and his eyes fixed on them. Several things flashed across his face, but before anything else could be said or done, Celegorm faced him and settled into his stance. A slight smirk touched the corner of his lips.

With the hint of heaviness in his limbs, Dior took up his own stance.

And thus the duel began.

For young Elurín, it was much too fast and frightening to follow. For present-Elurín, it brought forth flashes of memory from the Second Kinslaying, becoming every bit like the mortal duel that he half-remembered.

Celegorm lunged and leapt, dodging this way and that, looking like a hunter dreadfully eager to catch his prey and skin it. Dior, on the other hand, moved gracefully like a dancer. With his dark hair tied back and his blue robes waving around him, Elurín supposed that he looked very much like Grandmother.

The harsh ringing of clashing blades made him wince. Eluréd held his hand tightly, almost bone-crushing. How much longer could they continue? Dior and Celegorm moved fast now, locked in a whirlwind dance, and Elurín prayed that they would not accidentally – or intentionally – hurt each other.

His younger self prayed the same … And even began to fear. Tears slipped from Elurín’s eyes, and in desperation, he cried, “Ada!”

Something shifted in the air. All of a sudden, the duel came to a halt, with both blades pointed at the other’s throat. Both Dior and Celegorm breathed heavily, but if Elurín had to pick, Dior looked the worse for wear.

Shadows hung beneath his eyes. Strands of dark hair flitted about his face like dried webs about to break.

Celegorm’s lips twitched. There was no mirth in his gaze, only something blazed and cold. “Perhaps we will have to leave this for another day. Unless you would honour me with another match?”

Before Dior could respond, Maedhros’s voice cut through the air. “Celegorm!”

Both Dior and Celegorm looked around as Maedhros strode forward. “I have need of you elsewhere, brother. My lord,” he added, turning to Dior, “I am sorry for the inconvenience.”

Dior shook his head. “No need. It was quite … enlightening.”

Celegorm’s eyes burned, yet he said nothing, not with the anger that fumed behind Maedhros’ piercing gaze.

Eluréd, meanwhile, grasped Elurín’s hand, and together they hurried over to Dior’s side. Elurín nearly sobbed with relief at seeing his ada safe and whole. Dior knelt and held them, and Elurín held fistfuls of his ada’s robe, hugging him tightly.

He thought he felt a familiar gaze on the back of his head, but he was too busy pressing a kiss to Dior’s cheek to notice.

* * *

The Fëanorians left after a week. Dior announced their renewed alliance to his people, and although not everyone was happy with it, there were not many who could deny the benefits of this alliance.

Unity was needed in the face of Morgoth’s growing power, after all. There were more sightings of his forces in Beleriand, more skirmishes, more bad things happening. Young Elurín and Eluréd remained blissfully unaware of it all, even if they did notice that Ada and Nana seemed more tired than usual.

Little Elwing knew of no bad things at all. All she knew was that she loved Ada and Nana, and her silver brothers.

Elurín felt a sense of foreboding as the year passed. More memories surfaced in his mind as he watched the days fly by: helping Elwing learn her letters; singing with Nimloth among the pools and fountains; dancing with Dior in the safe woodland glades. The majority of these he already knew. Now that he thought about it, there was hardly any change in his youth, save the Fëanorians’ visit and their new alliance. 

Then his vision shifted.

Elurín and Eluréd stood in a corridor with Dior and Nimloth. He heard a great commotion from deep in the kingdom, though he could not tell from where. Elves ran past them in the corridor, but several guards surrounded them. 

Nimloth held a wailing Elwing. Shock burst in Elurín’s stomach – his nana wore leaf-shaped plates of armour, and her silver-white hair was tied back. And Dior wore armour as well, though perhaps of a more Dwarvish style, or even Mannish.

“I do not want to go, Ada,” Eluréd cried.

“Listen to me, my sons,” Dior said urgently, kneeling before them. “You must go. Nana and Galadriel will be with you.”

“And you too, Ada?” Elurín asked, his vision already blurring.

Dior’s mouth twisted. “No. I cannot go with you.”

“No, Ada!” Eluréd held fast to Dior, wrapping his arms tight around their ada’s neck, refusing to let go even as Dior disentangled them. “Stay, Ada, stay with us!”

“I am sorry,” Dior whispered. He held Eluréd’s face and kissed him, and then kissed Elurín. His hands trembled as he touched Elurín’s cheek.

“I will be alright,” he said, but Elurín did not believe it.

Dior kissed Nimloth and Elwing, and then he was gone.

Afterwards, Elurín only remembered a blur of sight and sound. There were screams, and horrific cackles – swords clashed and blood spilt, and then Nimloth halted.

“I will distract them,” she said to Galadriel, passing poor Elwing to her. Then she hugged Elurín and Eluréd. “My sweetling stars, never forget how much I love you.”

Elurín cried, held back by strong hands, as Nimloth disappeared from their side. Distantly he wondered if she was going to find Ada.

And then, as he and Eluréd ran with Galadriel and the remaining survivors, Elurín’s vision split in two. In one, he saw through his younger self’s eyes. In the other, he saw Dior in the throne hall, surrounded by dead guards, fighting to his last breath.

It was not the Fëanorians who attacked. It was a multitude of armoured Orcs.

Orcs sent by Morgoth in vengeance for the Silmaril’s theft. Orcs with jagged blades and many, many torches. Already the throne hall burned, and Dior gasped for breath as he felled yet another Orc.

Nimloth arrived just as he slew the Orc general. Yet the foul creature’s blade went through Dior’s throat at the same time.

Nimloth screamed.

She fought, and she also fell, silver hair seeping in blood. The throne hall burned, scouring the stone walls with soot, destroying the tapestries that hung there.

Elurín sobbed as his vision returned to his younger self. He did not like any of this. He wanted Ada and Nana. He wanted things to be well again.

Their group came to a halt. As the elders discussed their current path, Galadriel passed Elwing to Eluréd. Elurín wrapped his arms around her, hoping to soothe her. 

She seemed a little heavier than usual. What was _that_ in her wrappings?

Elurín touched it, and all at once, he heard the whisper of Ada’s Silmaril.

He was glad when Galadriel took Elwing into her arms, taking the Silmaril’s song away.

Somehow, in the confusion and terror and chaos of the attack, Elurín and Eluréd lost Galadriel and their company.

Orcs chased them now. Orcs and fire and blood and screams. Elurín and Eluréd ran through corridors, hand in hand, as fast as their legs could carry them. Elurín gasped for breath. He needed to rest, but he could not stop now!

Breathe and run. That was all he knew to do.

They were caught as they neared the woods around Doriath. The Orcs cackled and shrieked with glee, grabbing at their hair and robes. Elurín’s screams mingled with his brother’s, and then –

The Orcs around them fell to the ground, bleeding. A Sindarin guard stood there in their place.

“Run,” he said. “Go! I will hold them off.”

Elurín and Eluréd scrambled to their feet. They hurried into the woods with the sounds of clashing blades still ringing in their ears. Elurín could still hear the screams within Doriath as they went, mingling with the roaring fires. Tears streaked his cheeks.

_Ada, Nana …_

They ran and ran. As they did so, Elurín’s vision split again.

He saw the dark woods in one. And in the other, he saw Maedhros.

Lindelen and Hrávelen, Maedhros’ Silmarils, cried out in anguish as he held them. Within them, he saw the attack upon Doriath, and though the vision lasted only for a moment, it was enough.

He gathered his army and departed from Himring, leaving Fingon to lead the fortress and the Ambarussat in charge of Amon Ereb. Dread settled in his gut, growing heavier as they neared Doriath, and when he heard the confirmation from his scouts that the Orcs had attacked, he felt only despair in that moment.

But with it came a strain of hope. Perhaps there were survivors. He had to do what he could to help them.

Thus the Fëanorians arrived at Doriath, and their wrath swept through the Orcs, destroying all that stood in their way. The battle was terrible, and many Elves were lost in the fray; both Curufin and Caranthir were badly wounded, and Celegorm also. The Orcs that fled were swiftly brought down with arrows. Nearly all the fires in the caverns and corridors were put out with the Silmarils’ help, but the damage was already done.

The Sindar lay dead, either in corpses or in ash, upon the floors. Maedhros ordered his men to see to their burial; others he set out to search for survivors. As for Dior and Nimloth, recognized only by their singed robes and melted armour, Maedhros saw to their burial personally.

The Orcs, on the other hand, were piled up outside Doriath and burned.

Maedhros’ scouts returned. They found no survivors. A new thought came to Maedhros then: what had happened to Dior’s twin sons and daughter? Had they been killed too? It pained him to think that those young boys, whom he had spoken to a year before, might have suffered a terrible fate.

Then Hrávelen shone forth. _No,_ it sang. _No!_

Maedhros’s fingers closed around the Silmaril. “Do you know where they are?” he asked breathlessly.

The Silmarils tugged him forward. They did not know exactly where Dior’s twin sons had gone, but they remembered the third Silmaril’s call when Elurín touched it. And they knew where _that_ had taken place.

The twins, it turned out, were _not_ at that place. The Silmarils flared out again, sending their song outwards as far as they could go, and caught a whisper of the twins’ cry on the air.

 _There!_ Lindelen sang, and Maedhros was led on once again.

As they entered the woods, it seemed that Maedhros moved forward more on his own than by the Jewels’ guidance, calling for Elurín and Eluréd as he searched. He even called for Elwing, yet Hrávelen whispered, _No. Gone._

Elurín’s vision returned to his younger self. The snowstorm came upon them so suddenly, just as before, and he wondered if they would die this time before Maedhros could find them.

They soon wadded through piles of snow, limbs turning numb and tears freezing on their cheeks. Eluréd fell first, and Elurín hurried to pull him up, but his brother lay unmoving.

“El-Eluréd,” Elurín sobbed, teeth chattering terribly. “P-pl-please d-do not l-l-leave m-me!”

He fell to his knees beside Eluréd, unable to go any further. He could not feel his limbs, his throat was horribly dry, and he was so very tired.

Ada and Nana were gone. Why wait to join them in Mandos’ Halls?

He thought he heard someone call his name.

And then –

A red cloak wrapped around him, and Elurín found himself pressed against a very warm chest.

He looked up and saw Maedhros, all red hair and golden stars, and blue eyes bright as the sky. He gathered them into his cloak and took them back to Doriath, speaking to them all the while, keeping them awake as best he could.

When they arrived at Doriath, Elurín’s vision withdrew from his exhausted younger self. In the throne hall lay wounded and dead Elves; Curufin and Caranthir had succumbed to their wounds, though Celegorm strove to hang on to life. He looked up as Maedhros approached.

“The Silmaril,” he said. “Do they have it?”

“No,” Maedhros replied. “But that is not important now.”

Celegorm scowled. His gaze lingered on Elurín and Eluréd, unconscious as they were in Maedhros’ arms, and anger burned in his face. 

“What now, then?” he asked bitterly. “Will you take them back to Himring?”

 _“We_ will,” Maedhros said. “Your quarrel with Dior is done. Will you put it on his sons?”

Celegorm turned away. He passed away later in the night, suffering from the poison that seeped through his wounds. Maedhros and Maglor grieved, and when all was ready, they and their host departed for Himring. With them went Elurín and Eluréd, held tight and warming in the Fëanorians’ arms. 

* * *

Fingon went out to meet the Fëanorian host as they approached Himring. He was much saddened to hear of their losses, but still glad to see those that yet lived, and even more surprised to see Dior’s twins. Indeed, he took part in caring for them, at least until they awoke and called for Maedhros in fear.

Elurín watched then as he relived his old memories with the Fëanorians. Only, he was not in Amon Ereb this time, but in Himring: the greatest hill in northeast Beleriand, upon which stood Maedhros’ fortress. 

His memories altered accordingly; as he and Eluréd grew, bonding with Maedhros and soon calling him Adar, there were periods where Maedhros sent them to Amon Ereb so that the Ambarussat could teach them hunting. Maedhros usually went with them, given he had Fingon to lead Himring in his place.

Maedhros loved and cared for them very much. Yet there was something a bit different about this new love. Elurín was not sure what it was; perhaps it was due to the change in Maedhros himself, for he had not suffered years of torment from Thangorodrim and Fëanor’s original Oath, and even the Kinslayings. This love did not feel heavy with all that guilt and darkness, though Maedhros still felt guilty that he was not able to reach Doriath in time.

But Elurín and Eluréd forgave him. They loved him just as much as he did them.

And thus, Elurín’s vision came to that moment when he and Eluréd took their hunting test.

It was in the woods just outside Amon Ereb. Elurín and Eluréd moved through the trees, while overhead in the branches and boughs, the Ambarussat and their hunters watched.

The stag came, and in Elurín’s vision, the animal seemed to take on a pearlescent glow, as though it were not a normal stag at all.

Then it bounded over to the twins and knocked them over.

A nasty ache appeared in the back of Elurín’s head, and his vision went dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know my character design of Elwing shows her as an adult, so just imagine that she looks like a 2-3 year old for this chapter ^^;;;  
> As for what went on during Dior's council with the Feanorians, it was all mostly negotiations and stuff for the alliance, but I also imagine that there were some "arguments" as well ... especially between Dior and Celegorm (mostly about the Silmaril, and maybe some insults about Dior's parentage cuz Celegorm's still salty about that, etc. XD) 
> 
> And now, it seems we've finally returned to the time where the story started! Man, it's been quite a wild ride, hasn't it? XDD
> 
> Sindarin words  
> muindor = brother  
> ioneg = my son (diminutive)  
> sellig = my daughter (diminutive)
> 
> Thanks for sticking with this story for so long! Y'all are the best :D And your comments and kudos are all greatly appreciated! <333


	26. Homecoming

Golden light – or was it silver? – danced across Elurín’s sight.

He blinked slowly, staring up at the tree canopy. Sunlight streamed through the branches in shafts. A bird’s tittering call cut through the peaceful quiet of the woods. Nearby lay Eluréd, looking as though he had just woken up.

What were they doing here? Something dug into Elurín’s back where he lay – his quiver! Yes, they were taking their hunting test! And there had been a stag …

“Eluréd! Elurín!”

Elurín blinked. He knew that voice … Was that Amras?

Slowly, he pushed himself up onto his elbows, only to wince as a painful throb lanced through his head.

“Elurín!” The voice sounded very near, and a shadow fell over Elurín. He peered up to see a tall ellon dressed in camouflage. Red hair tumbled about his shoulders in thick waves, made bright as flame in the sunlight.

He held Elurín’s face in his hands. “Are you alright? How do you feel?”

“My head hurts a little,” Elurín murmured. “Eluréd …”

“He is alright,” someone else said nearby. Then, in a lower voice, “There now, take it easy, child.”

Elurín looked up at his helper again. Golden freckles were sprinkled across his face, and his eyes shone blue. But it was not Adar …

“Here, can you stand?” Strong hands helped him up. Elurín swayed on his feet as a wave of dizziness washed over him. Valar, how his head pounded!

“We will have to get them back,” he heard the ellon say. “There is no bleeding from what I can see.” And then to Elurín, “I will carry you, little star. Put your arms around my neck.”

“Amras,” Elurín murmured, doing as he was bid. “We lost the stag.”

“Ah, child, do not worry about that.”

“Did we do well? Eluréd and I?”

“Of course! You did very well. Maedhros will be so pleased to hear it.”

“But we knocked our heads,” Elurín said quietly, letting his eyes flutter closed. He felt oddly tired, down to his fingers and toes, but there was enough energy left in him to feel glad. They were going home to Amon Ereb. To Maedhros.

“Yes, we saw,” Amras replied, now striding away from the clearing. “But I do not think it will lead to anything bad. Save, of course, mixing my name up as you used to.”

“Hmm.” Elurín settled his head against Amras’ shoulder, mulling over that last statement … “What do you mean?”

Amras chuckled. “Perhaps it was the lighting. You could not see me very well against the sun, eh?”

Elurín frowned and drew back to look at him. Red hair, golden freckles, blue eyes … But with a slightly different face shape that was not Maedhros’. And the hair was decidedly bushier than Maedhros’. “No, you are Amras. I did not get you mixed up.”

“‘Tis the knock to the head, brother,” the other voice said. “Dear one,  _ I _ am Amras.”

Elurín’s heart quickened. Looking up over Amras’ shoulder, he spotted another ellon carrying Eluréd, and he had red hair and golden freckles and blue eyes and was dressed in camouflage –

They looked identical. Absolutely identical.

Only …  _ That _ Amras’ hair was a lighter shade of red, close to Maedhros’. Elurín recognized it easily. But  _ this _ Amras had hair of a  _ darker _ shade.

This ellon who carried Elurín … He was not Amras.

Elurín’s mouth twisted. Something rose in his chest, a whirlwind of things that he could not explain. Memories, too, flashed through his mind like long-forgotten dreams, only to be remembered again.

It was too much. Too much to take in.

Not-Amras tilted his head. “Are you alright, child? You can rest your head on my shoulder; it must hurt.”

Elurín shook his head, ignoring the throbbing ache at the back. “No. You – you are not …”

A hint of caution touched Not-Amras’ smile. “I am Amrod. Remember?”

“Amrod is dead.”

The words left Elurín’s mouth before he could stop them. He did not know where they came from, but there was a feeling in his mind, a quiet certainty that this  _ should _ be true. Amrod, Amras’ twin, was not supposed to be here.

Not-Amras –  _ Amrod _ – stared at him in shock. His smile disappeared, and in his gaze gleamed a spark of hurt.

But it was gone in a moment. “Elurín, dearest, let us go home and check your head.”

_ “No.” _ More memories came to him in a flood – a golden tree and a silver tree, and bright cities, and Elves from legend …

Fëanáro’s house. Fëanáro’s sons. And High King Finwë, and gentle Huan, and Mastaro, and Laiquehepar … 

And Maitimo. Elurín remembered Maitimo, but in a very distant way. Had that all been a dream? He and Eluréd walking in Valinor, holding the Silmarils, singing against Morgoth … Had that all really happened?

But – Amrod was here. Amrod was alive! Elurín and Eluréd succeeded in changing history – Elurín had seen those visions of Arda. Even though they now lived in his head as distant, dreamlike images, he  _ had _ seen them.

It all happened. It  _ must _ have. Amrod was here, alive,  _ carrying _ him!

“Elurín?” Amrod asked, tightening his hold around him. “Are you alright?”

No, he was not. His head swam, and everything blurred before him – Amrod’s face, the trees, the sunlight, everything.

The last thing Elurín remembered was collapsing on Amrod’s shoulder before all went dark.

When Elurín woke up, he found himself lying in his bed at Amon Ereb. The ache in his head was gone, thank goodness.

Eluréd lay beside him. He was awake, staring at the blazing hearth across from them. He seemed deep in thought, but Elurín could not put a word to the look in his brother’s gaze.

“Eluréd?” he said quietly.

Eluréd exhaled slowly. “Do you remember?” he asked.

“Yes,” Elurín said. “But – what do you speak of? Valinor? Or – the other history?”

“Both,” Eluréd replied. “I remember both. But distantly, like a dream. Or old memories from another life.”

Elurín considered that for a moment. “Well, that is what they are now, yes? All that should have happened … That is another life. Amrod is alive now.” He could still hardly believe it, and yet – he knew it to be true. He now had memories of spending time with Amrod. Visits to Himring, visits to Amon Ereb’s fortress … He loved Amrod as much as he loved Amras.

But he still remembered the time, however much it was veiled with dreamlike mist, when Amras was the only twin who lived.

Eluréd looked at him, silver-white hair shining in the firelight. His pale eyes glistened. “We could not change everything. Ada and Nana still died.”

Tears burned behind Elurín’s eyes. “But not in a Kinslaying.”

“True,” Eluréd said, turning back to stare at the hearth. “Not in a Kinslaying.”

Silence fell over them for a little while. Elurín took comfort in the quiet of the room. He could not be certain of what went on beyond the walls, but here, in this space, everything was the same. The hearth, the bed, the window with its shutters. The bedside table. The woolly blankets.

But the space in his mind was not the same. New memories surfaced as he searched further back: meeting Fingon, for example, of all people! Fingon lived with them at Himring – and that was enough to let a tear fall from Elurín’s eye. He and Eluréd did not live at Amon Ereb. They lived at Himring now.

Their bedchamber at Himring was bigger than this one. The hearth bore swirling designs and bas-reliefs, and animal rugs covered the floor. And they even had a little closet and wardrobe there!

For mealtimes, Elurín and Eluréd would eat in the great hall with Maedhros and his brothers, and Fingon. Fingon doted on them quite often. He would hold their faces in his hands and kiss their brows … And then Elurín would pat  _ his _ cheeks and kiss  _ his _ brow. Even Eluréd would comb his fingers through Fingon’s hair, tracing the pattern of golden ribbons at the back.

Elurín loved Fingon. He loved him very much.

And Maglor too – he dwelled in Himring at the moment, not Amon Ereb. He had two harps, not one, and he was … brighter. More lively than in – the other life. His songs were full of more light, more hope.

And the twins, Amrod and Amras! They lived in the fortress of Amon Ereb, but they made constant contact with Himring. Elurín had more memories of Amras smiling than he did before. As for Amrod, Elurín often rode with him whenever they were together. Amrod liked to tell him stories of their life in Valinor, riding and hunting, usually with Celegorm and Huan. He spoke more of Huan than Celegorm though, since – according to Amrod – Elurín and Eluréd seemed more partial to the hound. Elurín could not help but smile at the memory.

Laiquehepar – now called Laephebron – still lived at Amon Ereb as the Ambarussat’s head cook. He offered the twins snacks and treats before mealtimes, always when the other cooks were not looking.

And last of all came a great ocean of memories containing Maedhros.

Yet, at that moment, the bedchamber door opened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for another chapter posted late ^^;; But the twins are back!! and Amrod's alive!!  
> Also, I thought it'd be nice for this story to have an epilogue, like as a way to show where Maedhros and the twins are years later, but I don't know which time period to use.  
> So my question is, what period would you like to see the twins and Maedhros in? Here are some examples:
> 
> \- After the War of Wrath (I could show the twins' choice of im/mortality)  
> \- Numenor and Eregion (I could show how Maedhros and the twins participate in the Rings business)  
> \- Third Age (I could show where the twins are, what they're doing, maybe leading up to LOTR -- and I suppose their im/mortality choice would also be revealed in this loll)  
> \- Or I could just write a random fluffy chapter with no plot, just to show how they're adapting to this new timeline lololl
> 
> I'll only write one epilogue, so the one that gets requested the most will be picked. If it turns out they're all different, I'll just choose the one I like best. So let me know what you'd like to see! And it doesn't have to be from this list if you have a different idea XDD Thanks guys :)
> 
> Your comments and kudos are all greatly appreciated! <333


	27. Our Whole Adar

Elurín was not completely shocked to see Maedhros standing there, face unscarred and right hand intact.

But he was still shocked.

Maedhros stared at them for a heartbeat. The worry on his face immediately melted away to relief, and he strode over to sit on the edge of the bed.

“My Elin Gelebrin,” he said. “How do you feel?”

Elurín opened his mouth to speak, but his voice caught in his throat. What should he say? Eluréd too seemed equally speechless. 

Maedhros smiled gently and reached out to smooth their hair away. Elurín kept very still under the touch of his adar’s right hand. It was both familiar and yet not … Would Elurín ever get used to this strange, clashing feeling?

“The twins told me what happened. Do your heads hurt?” Maedhros asked. “Come now, children, I must know.”

Eluréd slowly shook his head. “It –” He cleared his throat to sound less hoarse. “Mine does not.”

Maedhros nodded. “Good. And yours, Elurín?”

Old, distant memories danced before Elurín’s eyes. Maedhros with his scars and only one hand. The heaviness in his gaze. The weariness in his face. The one Elurín loved so much, and now … Was his adar all alone in that other life now?

He hoped it was not so. Surely the old Elurín and Eluréd dwelled there with him … If that other life still remained real. Elurín did not even know how any of it worked. Perhaps it no longer existed. Perhaps the old Maedhros was gone forever, and _this_ Maedhros was the true one now.

Elurín’s eyes filled with tears. Why did he feel so sad? History had turned out better, had it not? So why did he still miss the old Maedhros?

“Elurín!” _this_ Maedhros said, alarmed. “My child, what is it? Where does it hurt?” He probed the side of Elurín’s head, but Elurín took his right hand and clasped it to his chest. His heart pounded miserably under Maedhros’ palm.

“My head does not hurt, Adar,” he said thickly.

Maedhros’s brow furrowed, but something akin to understanding flitted through his eyes. He held out his arms to them, and both Elurín and Eluréd leaned into his embrace. Maedhros was warm and solid, just as Elurín remembered … And there was nothing particularly different about him. He smelled the same – fresh stone and wood, clean clothes, and some unfamiliar note that made Elurín think of a faraway land.

His tears fell onto Maedhros’ chest, staining his red tunic. “Adar,” he said, “I love you.”

“I love you,” Eluréd mumbled, tears glistening in his eyes also.

Maedhros’s arms tightened around them. “Oh, my stars,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss their heads. “And I love you, always.”

As Elurín was tucked against Maedhros’ right side, he felt his adar’s right hand curl around the back of his head. Before, he usually felt the smooth surface of Maedhros’ prosthetic. He could not decide which one he liked more.

Then a twist of guilt entered his heart. Was he really thinking that one was better than the other? That he wanted the old Maedhros more than this one? They were the same! Or – mostly the same.

More tears spilled down his cheeks as he pressed his face into Maedhros’ chest. It was very wrong of him, was it not? Even after all the positive changes he and Eluréd had brought to Arda, he still missed the old life, distant and dream-like though it was.

Shortly after, Maedhros brought them to the kitchens for something to eat. He had offered to bring a tray, but Eluréd claimed he wanted to stretch his legs. Elurín suspected that he wanted to see if the fortress was much changed. Elurín would be lying if he said he did not want to see as well.

As it turned out, everything appeared the same, save that the walls held more tapestries and the corridors seemed brighter. Or perhaps that was only the natural light from the windows.

A delicious aroma of cooking meat caught Elurín’s attention. They had arrived at the kitchens! He peeked through the doors and saw the setting he knew so well – the ovens, the counters, the cupboards, and the big hearth fire where Laephebron’s cooking pot sat. The familiarity of it all washed over Elurín so that he felt like crying again.

“Ah, boys!” a familiar voice called.

Elurín looked around to see Laephebron striding over. The head cook smiled widely and gestured to a nearby table. “You are just in time! I was about to bring the food to you.”

Elurín's stomach grumbled at the sight of hot stew, fresh bread with melted butter, and mushroom morsels. All thoughts of travelling through time left his mind as he rushed to the table. Very soon he was gobbling it all down. Eluréd sat at his side, eating just as quickly.

“Valar,” Laephebron said in astonishment. “Slow down! I do not want you getting sick!”

Each bite of Laephebron’s cooking solidified the fact that Elurín was indeed home. This was a new life, yes, but – it was home. The food tasted the same, and the kitchen looked the same … 

It was just a more hopeful life, now. 

And Laephebron looked more or less the same, too. His apron and robes were unchanged. The red scarf still adorned his hair, the one that he, as Laiquehepar, had worn in Valinor.

Elurín wanted so badly to hug him, but he still had two more slices of buttery bread to eat!

“Adar,” Eluréd said, wiping his mouth with a napkin, “where is Maglor?”

“He is at Himring, Êl Gelebren. Remember?”

Eluréd blinked and exchanged a glance with Elurín. Elurín frowned; now that he thought of it, he _did_ remember that Maglor was at Himring.

“And Fingon?” he put in. “When will we see him again?”

“Soon, child. We have a few more days to spend here before we return home.” Maedhros’ smile broadened. “He will be quite eager to see you, I am sure.”

Warmth blossomed in Elurín’s chest at the thought. He was eager to see Fingon, too. He could see the ellon in his mind’s eye: dark braids woven with gold, a gentle smile on his face and a bright gleam in his gaze.

 _Just like in Valinor,_ Elurín thought, remembering the sporting events from a long time ago.

“What about Amras and – Amrod?” Eluréd asked.

“They are still outside, but they will be back soon,” Maedhros promised. His gaze flickered to Elurín as he said this, and Elurín suddenly remembered what he had said to Amrod in the clearing. His heart quickened as he averted his eyes. Had Amrod told Maedhros about that? Oh, he hoped not! How would he explain it if his adar asked?

“Could we go outside, then?” Eluréd asked. “Maybe we will run into them!”

Maedhros smiled. “Very well, if you wish it.”

“And how was your hunting test, if I may ask?” Laephebron said.

Eluréd told him all about it, leaving out the part about travelling through time, of course. When he reached the part about the stag, Laephebron shook his head with a forlorn sigh. 

“If only the game would come to _me._ They always ran whenever I came near. I hardly caught anything during hunting trips.”

Elurín giggled. “That is what most animals do, though!”

Laephebron ruffled his hair. “Then the next time I try hunting, you can come with me. Maybe then I will catch something!”

Once they had finished eating, the three of them went outside. The afternoon sunlight fell upon Elurín’s face, warming him to the bone, and for a moment he was at peace. Silence followed them as they passed through the open courtyards, strolling hand-in-hand.

Amrod and Amras were nowhere to be seen just yet. Elurín bit his lip and glanced up at Maedhros. His adar’s golden freckles gleamed in the light. Perhaps it was his imagination, but they seemed brighter than before. Was it because Maedhros bore no scars now?

“Adar,” Elurín began, a little hesitantly, “how are you today?”

Maedhros looked down at him. He did not appear surprised by the sudden question. “I am well, child. And you? How is your head?”

Elurín felt the area where he had knocked it. “It still does not hurt.”

“Hmm. We will go to the healers later, just to make sure.” His voice softened. “My brothers were quite worried about you both.”

“I am sorry, Adar,” Eluréd said. “We did not think the stag would surprise us.”

“It is alright,” Maedhros said soothingly, stroking Eluréd’s hair. “You succeeded in tracking it. You passed the test. None of us expected the stag to rush at you. I am only glad that you are well.”

He might have said more, but at that moment he tensed and looked up. “They are here,” he murmured.

“Amras? Where?” Elurín looked around but saw nothing.

“Oh!” Eluréd exclaimed, pointing. “Over there! I can see their heads.”

With that, Eluréd took off towards the nearest courtyard entrance. Elurín squinted; just beyond the entrance, he spotted to heads of red hair, followed by others. Soon they were joined by Eluréd’s silver-white head.

“Elurín,” Maedhros said quietly. “I have something to ask of you.”

Unbidden, Elurín’s pulse quickened. “Yes?”

“Amrod tells me that, when he found you, you said something odd to him.”

“I did not mean to!” Elurín burst out, hands trembling. “Truly, Adar, I did not mean to say it!”

Maedhros knelt beside him. There was nothing of a reprimand in his countenance. “I know you did not, child. I only wish to know what made you say it.”

Elurín fiddled with the hem of his sleeve. In the corner of his eye, he spotted Amrod and Amras’ group coming near, with Eluréd between them. “It must have been the knock to my head.” Maedhros did not seem convinced, but he said nothing more of it. Amrod and Amras were now within earshot; Maedhros stood as his brothers came near, and they embraced each other warmly.

“Ah, Elurín,” Amrod said with a bright smile. “It is good to see you!”

He leaned down and kissed Elurín’s head. That only helped to make Elurín even more guilty, yet as he looked up at Amrod, he saw the gentle gleam of love in the elder’s eyes.

Elurín threw himself at Amrod then, hugging him tightly around the waist, and immediately felt Amrod’s arms tighten around him. 

No words needed to be said. Elurín held Amrod’s hand as the whole party returned to the fortress. This new life was different and yet not. He was already used to it, and yet not truly. He still had whole memories to reconcile with. What else lay in store for him and Eluréd?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another late chapter! Sorry, guys ^^;; I think I'll have to move back the posting time to Monday afternoon, just so I'm not rushing to post it before work loll  
> This chapter was more of a slice-of-life, just to settle the twins in. The final chapter will come next week, and then after that is the epilogue! Goodness, it's been quite an adventure! I know this is rather early, but thank you guys so much for reading and sticking with the story thus far! It really means a lot to me :D
> 
> Your comments and kudos are all greatly appreciated! <333


	28. Changed for the Better

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick one before you start reading: I'm so sorry I had to postpone the update! I guess burnout was finally catching up with me ^^;; Thank you guys so much for your patience, and I hope you enjoy the final chapter! :D

“Do you think we should tell them?” Elurín asked that night.

Both he and Eluréd lay in bed, swaddled in comfy blankets and drowsy from the evening’s hearty meal. The feel of Maedhros’ goodnight kiss on his brow still lingered.

Eluréd was silent for a moment before replying. “I do not think so. What use is there in telling them? They might not believe us, in any case.”

That did make sense. None of the Fëanorians seemed to remember the other life, and that was just as well. 

Elurín’s heart ached at the thought of old Maedhros. As faded as that memory was, he still remembered.

“Eluréd,” he said in a small voice. “I do not want to forget … the other life. The other Adar.”

Eluréd met his gaze. “You do not have to. I will not either. But Elurín … This is our life now. The other Adar is now this Adar. They are the same person.” Eluréd smiled gently. “We grew to love _this_ one, did we not?”

Elurín nodded. He had so many memories of being with Maedhros, enough to match his memories of Doriath and Ada Dior and Nana Nimloth.

“But what if the other life is still – there?” Elurín asked. “What if the other Adar is there, and we are not with him? What if he is all alone?”

Eluréd frowned. “I do not think he is. I thought the other life merged into this one.”

A confused silence fell over them. What was true and what was not? Elurín did not know, but he very much wanted to. He needed to know what had happened to the old Maedhros.

Then an idea struck him – “We could ask the Silmarils.”

And that was how they found themselves in the corridor not ten minutes later, tip-toeing through the shadows to Maedhros’ bedchamber. In hindsight, waiting to ask Maedhros the next morning was likely better, but Elurín couldn’t help his nerves, and nor, it seemed, could Eluréd.

As they went, a question kept popping up in Elurín’s mind: how did they know that the Silmarils were in Maedhros’ bedchamber? And, in answer, memories surfaced in his mind: Maedhros always kept the Jewels close. They rested in a snug case that he slung across his shoulder.

Elurín had held it once during a riding trip. He remembered being surprised when Maedhros offered the Silmarils’ case to him, but he had not questioned it.

He had heard the Silmarils singing quietly during the trip. But they did not sound like Ada Dior’s Jewel. No, they sounded … Friendly. Gentle, at the very least.

Perhaps that was why Elurín did not feel so afraid in their midnight quest. Something tugged at the back of his mind as he and Eluréd crept on: they had done this before, far across the Sea, had they not?

They soon reached Maedhros’ door. Eluréd opened it with a trembling hand; all was still inside the bedchamber, including Maedhros’s form on the bed.

Elurín took a deep breath and plunged inside.

Elurín and Eluréd had occasionally slept in Maedhros’ bed when they were younger, and usually during the cold of winter. Elurín had felt the case with his fingers while shifting closer to Maedhros. It was pressed against the headboard, covered perfectly by the pillow.

The next night, it was gone. But sometimes it reappeared. Perhaps Maedhros moved it around the room.

In any case, Elurín’s first thought was to check under Maedhros’ pillow. He had to hum a sleeping song while Eluréd carefully slipped his hands underneath.

Eluréd’s eyes widened. “It is here!” he mouthed. Elurín nodded encouragingly, his heart pounding like mad.

Eluréd slowly drew the case out. Maedhros did not stir, though his breathing hitched once. Elurín thanked his skill in song; if not for that, Maedhros surely would have awoken!

Case in hand, Elurín and Eluréd scurried out of the room like little mice. Elurín could not help but feel a twinge of guilt, but – it was for a good reason! He needed to know.

As they dashed down the corridor, Elurín heard the Silmarils singing. Their song was quiet, soft, and somewhat muffled from within the case.

Elurín swallowed nervously. Would this work? What if the Silmarils told them nothing?

Once they were back in their bedchamber, Eluréd turned to Elurín. “Alright then,” he whispered. “Let us open it.”

Elurín’s hand shook as he carefully lifted the lid. All at once, the Silmarils’ light illuminated the room, shining with many colours. Elurín instinctively shut his eyes, but the light was not painful. Slowly, he opened his eyes and gazed upon the Jewels.

They lay in cup-shaped spaces with padded velvet, safe and snug. As Elurín stared at them, memories surfaced in his mind like half-remembered dreams … Maedhros, but with a shadow upon him like a cloak … And Amras, but without his twin …

“Lindelen,” Eluréd said softly. “Hrávelen.”

The Silmarils pulsed in answer. _Hello._

They sounded so gentle that Elurín relaxed somewhat. “We –” He swallowed. “We wanted to ask …”

 _Yes?_ Lindelen chimed. Their light swirled around Elurín and Eluréd like mist.

“The other life. Was it – real?”

He expected a straight answer, but instead, the Silmarils’ light heightened and filled his sight. Images appeared before him, one after the other, half-formed and soon to be washed away like footprints on a beach.

But Elurín saw them.

He saw the other Maedhros, scarred and one-handed, sitting on the edge of a bed. Tucked within that bed were … Elurín and Eluréd. They were back from the hunting test, Elurín realized. Yes, that had happened in the other life, before they – they went through time.

At the moment, he and his brother seemed asleep. Then they opened their eyes and spoke to Maedhros, even moving into his embrace. Elurín could not hear what they said, but he _knew._

Then the vision shifted. Maedhros’ shadow lifted, his face cleared of marring, and his right hand returned. Even the bedchamber, once sparse, now held a rug or two. The hearth flickered merrily in the corner.

Two-handed Maedhros still held the twins. As Elurín watched, tears building in his eyes, Lindelen sang to him.

 _Still there. Or … Has become_ here. _Not certain._

“But,” Elurín said as the vision faded, “if it is _still there,_ then we are still with him – there. Right?”

 _Yes,_ Hrávelen chimed. _Always._

 _But time to live here,_ Lindelen sang softly. _You did well. Changed many things. For better._

Elurín smiled through his tears. Looking up, he saw Eluréd wiping away his own tears, and moved forward to hug him.

Perhaps they were not meant to know what really happened to the other life. He would remember as much as he could of it, of course. But this was his life now, and he must do good by it.

And as long they were with Adar Maedhros, they would be alright.

*

*

*

As the days passed, Elurín felt more and more comfortable here. Even Eluréd seemed settled. This was their new life – or their usual one, depending on how you looked at it. He still could not believe that he and Eluréd had succeeded in changing history. But here it was! The evidence was all around him. 

Each time Maedhros hugged him, the certainty that this was real solidified further in Elurín’s heart. Each time Amrod laughed, and each time a mention of Fingon was made.

Speaking of Fingon, they were due to leave for Himring tomorrow. Elurín could hardly contain his excitement. When he got back, he would tell Fingon all about the hunting test!

All except for the time travel, of course.

The Silmarils had spoken to them of that. _No need to tell,_ Hrávelen sang. _Only live well. Be good._

“We will,” Elurín and Eluréd promised.

After that, they had to sneak the Silmarils’ case back under Maedhros’ pillow. The whole time, Elurín felt like laughing aloud. It all seemed too good to be true!

But it _was_ true. And what a blessing it was.

On the day of their departure, they bid farewell to the Ambarussat. “I will write to you,” Elurín said earnestly.

“I look forward to it,” Amrod replied with a grin. “More letters to add to my collection!” Then he kissed Elurín’s cheek and hugged him tightly. “You stay safe on the road, little star.”

Elurín’s heart twisted, but it was a good twist. With it carried the hope that he would see Amrod again.

The time to depart was upon them. Elurín sat in front of Maedhros on the latter's large steed while Eluréd sat behind. The travelling party rode out of the fortress and down Amon Ereb, heading south towards Himring. The sky shone blue above them with no clouds to see. Elurín breathed deeply as they went, filling his lungs with fresh autumn air.

Everything was calm and quiet around them, save for the clip-clopping of horse hooves. The peaceful silence burrowed into Elurín’s bones until he shivered.

“Are you feeling well, child?” Maedhros asked, rubbing Elurín’s shoulder.

“Yes,” Elurín replied. “I am well.” He caught Maedhros’ eye over his shoulder, and smiled.

He was quite content.

At night, he and Eluréd lay against Maedhros their tent, kept warm under the woolly blankets. Maedhros slept so soundly now – at least more so than he did in the other life. Sometimes Elurín held his adar’s right hand as he fell asleep, as though to really make sure that this was all real and would not disappear with the dawn.

It was a joy, therefore, to see that everything was still there in the morning.

They reached Himring in good time. Elurín’s heart leapt with excitement to see the grand fortress rising before them, all might and majesty. He held a fistful of his adar’s cloak in his excitement. _Himring._ He was about to enter Himring, of all places!

As they came closer to the outer gates, a trumpet sounded, its call cutting through the morning quiet. “Do not fear,” Maedhros murmured. “They are announcing our arrival.”

Elurín relaxed a little. His ears still rang with the trumpet’s blast.

“Look,” Maedhros said suddenly. “Up there, on the ramparts.”

Elurín followed his gaze to the high ramparts. Banners fluttered in the wind, and soldiers stood at duty. From this distance, Elurín could not see their faces – they were the size of pins, after all!

But his eyes did alight on something: the sunlight struck one of the Elves on the ramparts, casting little sparks of golden light all about him. His robes fluttered blue in the wind, and his hair was dark.

As Elurín watched, the Elf in blue waved his hand. Recognition passed over Elurín then. “Fingon!” he cried.

“Hello, Fingon!” Eluréd called, waving back.

Fingon left the ramparts as the travelling party passed through the gates. When Elurín looked back, he saw the Noldo lord hurrying down the steps towards them.

Maedhros lifted Elurín down onto the ground. “There we are,” his adar said. “Now all that is left is –”

“Children!” Fingon interrupted, lifting Eluréd into the air. The gold ribbons in his hair fluttered as he spun Eluréd around. “Oh, how I missed you!”

Eluréd laughed and hugged Fingon. Once he was set down, Fingon turned to Elurín and smiled brightly. “And you, little star?” he said, holding out his arms.

Elurín beamed and hurried towards him. Fingon lifted him up with strong, gentle hands, and kissed him twice. Elurín was certain that his heart had never been so full of love before!

“Welcome home,” Fingon said warmly as he set Elurín down.

 _Home?_ Elurín found Eluréd’s hand in his right, squeezing tightly. He watched as Maedhros came forward and hugged Fingon tightly, then turned to Maglor as the latter approached with a wide smile.

Peace glistened in Eluréd’s eyes, mirroring how Elurín felt.

It felt wonderful to be home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, we've come to the end! (excluding the epilogue, of course XDD) Massive thanks to all those who stuck with my story to the end, and even more massive thanks to those who commented!! Reading your comments always made me giddy with glee and brightened my day :D
> 
> I also learned quite a bit through writing this story. I really enjoyed the experience; I do wish I'd spent more time developing the plot first and integrating some of my headcanons better, but overall I'm quite satisfied with how it turned out!
> 
> Now, as for the epilogue, that'll likely come sometime next week. I might not be able to guarantee Monday, but I do want to post it next week, so I'll do my best!!
> 
> Once again, thank you all so much! And, as always, your comments and kudos are all greatly appreciated <333


	29. Epilogue of Memories I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whelp this took me longer than expected! Thanks for your patience, guys ^^;; Turns out this epilogue is going to be split in two, since I decided to write (slightly before) the War of Wrath and all the way up to the Rings of Power.  
> I hope you guys are having a great week, and happy reading! <3

Elurín sat on a bench in one of Rivendell’s gardens. More specifically, this was Elrond’s personal garden, but Elrond let his uncles use it from time to time. Elurín preferred this space as his thinking spot; it was calm and quiet, filled with the trickle of water and the soft chirping of birds. 

It seemed so long since he had last felt completely at peace, even if for a moment. Elurín’s mind wandered as he sat there in the garden’s serenity. In all his memory, he could not remember ever _truly_ resting, without fear of danger or approaching darkness … 

*

*

*

_F. A. 530_

_‘Twas the year that we – Eluréd and I – moved to Sirion in the hopes of reuniting with Elwing. With us went as many reinforcements as Maedhros could spare to help protect Sirion._

_We found her alive and well. The third Silmaril lay upon her breast._

_Something about it made me uneasy. It did not sing like the others. But I put aside my doubts, and we embraced each other._

_It was only much later that I remembered my visions from childhood, and I realized that Elwing had never learned how to shield herself and others from the third Silmaril’s cold song._

_Eluréd and I knew something of the art of shielding from Maglor. I suggested that we hold it for safekeeping, but Elwing refused. I tried explaining the matter to her, but she did not want to listen._

_She held the Jewel close like a newborn babe. She caressed it at times and stared into its light._

_Her councillors only added to her stubbornness. And as for Eärendil, well … I must confess I hardly saw him. He enjoyed his sailing as much as the next mariner. But when I did have a chance to talk with him, he was always quite amiable. And rather protective of Elwing, too._

__

_I did not mind the latter as much; Morgoth was ever a shadow upon Sirion, and Eärendil likely remembered the loss of Gondolin’s people. He wanted to protect Sirion’s people, yet he also enjoyed the freedom and peace that sailing brought him, allowing him to leave his hurts on the mainland._

_I only wish that he was there to see his sons born not two years later. But because he was not, Eluréd and I stayed by Elwing’s side. We held her hands, and then her sons, and set the small bundles in her arms._

Elrond, _she named one._ _And_ Elros _for the other._

_When Eärendil returned, he held his sons close for hours. He kissed their faces as they slept. He stayed for six months to be with them, but the sea’s calling became too much for him._

_I remember finding him at the docks one day, gazing out at the sea._

_“I know what you will say,” he murmured, not turning around. “That I should not go.”_

_“Indeed,” I replied. “You have your wife to watch over. Your sons. Will you leave them for her to raise alone?”_

_“You must think me cold,” Eärendil said, “to leave when my sons are still small. But I – I cannot stay and do nothing. Valinor lies on the other side of the sea. If I could reach it –”_

_“Many have tried and failed,” I said. “It may even be a miracle if you return here at all.”_

_“I must try,” Eärendil whispered. “For them.”_

_“How do I know you will keep on your course?” Perhaps it was harsh of me, but I found my patience worn thin at that point. By Eärendil’s lack of presence at home, Elwing’s obsession with the Silmaril, and now the added worry of how this would affect little Elrond and Elros …_

_I turned away and left him on the shore._

_Later, I found him in the twins’ bedchamber, gazing at his sons as they slept in their cradle. The pain in his eyes might have broken my heart if I did not feel so uneasy._

_Eärendil departed the next day. Elwing watched on with blankness in her eyes. The Jewel shone at her throat._

_Eluréd and I held the little twins. They were asleep, oblivious to their father’s farewell kisses that he left on their faces._

_F. A. 538_

_There are times when I wish I did more to stop Elwing. I should have taken the Silmaril from her. I should have thrown it into the sea._

_And yet, in the end, it led to good things. For Arda, if not for everybody in it._

_She cared for Elrond and Elros in their young years, yet as they grew, she turned to the Silmaril once again. Eluréd and I often found the twins coming to us because of that._

_“Nana is busy,” they said sadly. “She does not want to see us now.”_

_Eluréd grew angry over time. We were able to shield the twins from the Silmaril, but not everybody. He believed that we should take the Jewel away, but I hesitated. I still do not know why. Some might call it foresight, but I do not think so._

_No, I think it was a fear of losing Elwing for a second time, and completely. If we intervened, she would be wrathful. What would happen then?_

_So we took care of the twins. I bandaged their scrapes and soothed the hurt in their hearts. Eluréd read to them and walked with them along the beach. Seeing them happy always brought me joy._

_I could not help sending letters to Adar Maedhros about the twins’ progress. I also confided in him my fears about the third Silmaril and how its song spread to others. He replied with warm words and reassurance, even offering to come and claim the Jewel himself if need be._

_I once asked him why he had not done so yet. He said that Hrávelen and Lindelen deemed it unsafe for him to go._

_Perhaps they did not want Adar anywhere near the third Silmaril, as Ada Dior once did._

_Whatever the case, the Silmaril stayed where it was. And in the twins’ sixth year, Morgoth sent his forces upon Sirion._

_By the grace of the Valar, we found the twins first. Elwing threw herself into the sea before we could reach her. The Silmaril remained with her to the end._

_My brother led Sirion’s forces against the Orcs. We managed to get the upper hand, but at great cost. I kept Elrond and Elros close; they asked me constantly where Elwing was, and how was I to respond?_

_It was not long after that Maglor arrived in Sirion with a small force and a letter from Maedhros. Himring had been attacked as well, forcing Maedhros and Fingon’s people to retreat to Amon Ereb. Hrávelen and Lindelen, however, sensed that something bad had happened to the third Silmaril – fire and flames and smoke – and so Maglor had decided to come._

_We were very glad to have him. He and his people did their best to heal ours. He even took a great liking to Elrond and Elros, and took it upon himself to sing them to sleep when Eluréd and I were too tired._

_It was not hard to tell that they were quite taken by him, and he with them._

_F. A. 545_

_When the Host of Valinor arrived on our shores, Eluréd and I found ourselves reunited with Maedhros, and Fingon, and the Ambarussat._

_He arrived to join forces with High King Finarfin’s host. He even introduced us to Finarfin as his foster-sons. It was a small moment of joy between us, that we should be with our family again while also meeting a lord of the West._

_We also learned that Eärendil and Elwing had reached Valinor in safety, yet they could not return. Elrond and Elros were grieved; though they had taken to referring to Maglor as Adar, I knew they still longed for their birth parents in their hearts._

_And thus the War of Wrath began. Maedhros had brought his Silmarils; he set Hrávelen upon Eluréd’s brow and Lindelen upon mine. We fought alongside him as his heralds in the war, and all shadows fled before the light of the Silmarils._

_I think they also helped to bolster our people’s spirit. These Jewels were far gentler than the third, untouched by Morgoth’s malice. Lindelen chased the weariness from my body and spirit, yet when I finally removed it after all the fighting, I felt more exhausted than ever before. Over time, this exhaustion seeped into my body and bones, and I wondered if this was how the Edain elders felt._

_F. A. 587_

_With the War of Wrath finally over, I foolishly believed that this would be the end of all our troubles. Morgoth was to return to Valinor for judgement. The Host of Valinor would also return, along with Finarfin. Even those Noldor who first departed years ago were granted permission to return._

_Maedhros, Maglor, and Fingon chose to stay. Amrod and Amras decided to return. I did not blame them. They were weary of the world’s hurts and wanted to see their old family again. We bid our farewells and saw them off from the docks._

_As for our nephews and ourselves, Eönwë presented us with the choice of the Halfelven. To become part of the Edain, or the Eldar … That was quite a heavy choice to make so soon after the war. I confess I was frightened of what it would mean, and so I went to Eönwë alone and begged him for more time._

_To my surprise, he granted it. I felt that there ought to have been more resistance, but I decided not to press my luck._

_I only regret not reaching my nephews sooner. I meant to tell them that they might ask Eönwë for more time, but they had already made their choice. Elrond chose immortality, but Elros – bold, brave Elros – he chose to become mortal._

_I know Maglor was devastated to hear of Elros’ choice. He did not show it fully on his face, but the pain cut deep. Eluréd once said that Maglor loved the twins too much for his own good. I wondered if it was the same for Adar._

_Maedhros did not ask us about our choice. Eluréd had not yet made his, and even decided to wait after I told him that I would. He hoped that we would make our choices together when the time came._

_I did not say it, but I had a feeling that our choices would give us more grief than joy._

*

*

*

“Uncle?”

Elurín opened his eyes, resurfacing from his memories. Elrond stood beside him, dressed in summer robes and with his dark hair hanging low. With the sunlight upon his face, Elurín might have mistaken him for Elros when the latter was still in his prime as Númenor's king.

“Yes, my star?” Elurín asked.

“I received word that Maedhros and Maglor are coming to Rivendell. They will be here in a few hours, I expect.”

“Is that so?” An odd current passed through Elurín’s veins. Excitement, anticipation, and the usual mix of butterflies in his stomach. He had not seen his adar for a while ... The Fëanorians travelled often these past years, from the Havens to Lothlórien and even beyond the Misty Mountains, all in their pursuit to clear out evil creatures. They did not have a permanent place to stay, especially now that much of their people were gone. But when they were not out in the wild lands, they took rest whichever Elven realm was nearest.

Oh, it had been so long since Elurín last saw them. Ten years? Twenty? Perhaps more. Time seemed to pass in the blink of an eye whenever Elurín was off in his own mind.

“Well then, I shall be here when they arrive,” he said aloud. “Or perhaps I will go out to meet them. I could use a bit of exercise.”

Elrond smiled. Then, “I was also wondering if you needed anything.”

“I am well so far, my star.”

“Are you sure, Uncle? You seemed … deep in thought.”

“Ah, ‘tis nothing, child,” Elurín said, patting his nephew’s arm. “I was reminiscing.”

Elrond appeared troubled by that. He was too good a healer, able to sense things that others might not at first glance.

“Worry not,” Elurín said reassuringly. “At this age, there is not much else to do.”

Elrond sighed again, but his voice was gentle. “As you say, Uncle. I will see you later then.” He bent to kiss Elurín’s hair, and departed from the gardens.

Elurín waited for a moment, then grasped the walking stick that lay beside him and stood up. Elrond had done what he could for Elurín’s knee, but it still trembled from time to time. Well, he was not about to let that stop him.

What would Adar say if he could see Elurín now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> F. A. stands for First Age. The next part of the epilogue will start with S. A. -- Second Age! :D  
> Also, the reason why Eonwe grants Elurin some time is that the Valar have a general idea of the twins' time travel and what they accomplished. So of course the twins should be granted this much if they wish it. I mean, that's the best reason I can think of loll
> 
> Your comments and kudos are all greatly appreciated! <333


	30. Epilogue of Memories II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy moly this chapter took me three ages of the world to complete. I'm so sorry to make you guys wait this long; my motivation really crashed and burned (time to put this project to rest and move onto the next, I guess XD). I hope you guys enjoy the final chapter, and I'll see you all at the end of it!

Upon entering Rivendell, there was an outdoor courtyard where one could wait for assistance – if you were expected, of course. And even then, if you were a guest, assistance would come anyway.

Elurín sat down on a nearby stone bench. His feet had begun to ache during his walk. His knee did not help much, either. The Orc’s blade had nearly done it in, and it _would_ have if not for Eluréd’s quick rescue.

Elurín could still remember the fearsome fire of wrath in his brother’s eyes …

Ah, but that memory was quite recent in Elurín’s mind. Six years ago? Or ten? Adar did not know of it; he had been out in the wild lands at the time. 

And now he was coming back. Better late than never, Elurín supposed.

His mind wandered again as he sat there, bathed in gentle sunlight, surrounded by the sound of rushing water not too far below.

*

*

*

_S. A. 442_

_Elros’s passing was a peaceful one. We sat by his side, all of us: Elrond, Eluréd and I, Maedhros and Maglor, and even Fingon. We would have stayed all the way through his last breath, yet he bade us go so as to not see him die._

_His children remained at his side for that part. I believe he wished us to remember him with breath still in his lungs and a twinkle in his eye._

_That evening, Maglor sang a ballad that he had composed for Tar-Minyatur, our beloved Elros._

_S. A. 750_

_Galadriel and Celeborn invited us to Ost-in-Edhil to celebrate its completed construction. This was the new capital city of Eregion, a symbol of new beginnings and connections. The Elves of Eregion built a road all the way to Khazad-dum for trade, and they even traded with the Men of Númenor._

_To see an Elven city so full of life … I only wish Elros could have seen it with us. Eregion itself was a beautiful land, home to both Noldor and Sindar. Gil-Galad and Elrond dwelled in Lindon, and with them went myself and Eluréd. Meanwhile, Fingon set up his own fortress close to Lindon, and there he reigned as High King with Maedhros and Maglor to support him._

_In this way, they could keep contact with Eluréd and myself, and Elrond. Maglor visited Elrond whenever he could._

_For the time being, I thought that everything would be well. I even felt weary – no doubt from all the strain that the war gave me … Or had it been from carrying the Silmaril?_

_Some nights I still felt its weight upon my brow._

_S. A. 1200_

_It was during this time that Eluréd and I heard of the name, Annatar._

_We were not present when Annatar spoke with Gil-Galad; we were visiting Adar at the time, and only learned of the meeting when we returned to Lindon. Gil-Galad was ill at ease when we saw him. I could not remember ever seeing him so shaken._

_To Fingon’s fortress Annatar went, yet the High King turned him away. We could not have known what would happen in time; we were all still caught in the hope of peace, that there would be no great darkness still to fight._

_Looking back, I wonder what I could have done differently, but in truth, there was no way of knowing at the time. At least, not for myself or Eluréd._

_We later heard that Annatar joined Celebrimbor’s brotherhood of craftsmen. I did not think too much on that at the time, but I wondered if I might have the chance to meet him. I planned to visit Celebrimbor, so there was likely to be an opportunity._

_I departed from Lindon and passed through Fingon’s stronghold. I rested there for a few days before continuing on. Adar was happy to see me, and I to see him. I promised him I would see that Celebrimbor was doing well, and also to bring back word on Annatar; by coincidence, Maedhros had not been present when Annatar met with Fingon and was curious himself._

_When I reached Ost-in-Edhil, I found Celebrimbor waiting for us with open arms. Oh, how I had missed him! The feast was merry that evening. And it was there that I finally met Annatar._

_His face was fairer than any Elf I ever saw. He greeted me with smooth, honeyed words and a soothing voice, but I confess I felt uneasy by his manner. Too much sweet was never a good thing. The power about him was evident, but it seemed that not everyone else noticed – or if they did, it was not as strong as I felt. When I asked Celebrimbor later in the privacy of his chambers, he revealed that he was aware of Annatar’s odd energy, but did not find anything wrong about it._

_Was it all in my head, then? Or was it something more? Eönwë once said that the Silmaril I had held would leave its mark on me, and that I would feel its effects in time. Was this it? Was it trying to warn me, even now?_

_I dearly wanted to confide in Eluréd, or even Adar, but they were not here with me. I could only wait until it was time to return home._

_I spoke to Annatar a few more times throughout my stay in the city. My unease ever increased; I did not like the look in his eyes at all, nor the smile upon his lips. He reminded me rather of a cat looking to pounce on its prey, but before eating would take some time to play with it._

_Needless to say, I was quite relieved when the time came to depart. I bid Celebrimbor farewell and told him to stay safe. He merely laughed and said that being around Adar had made me very serious indeed._

_S. A. 1355_

_Celeborn and Galadriel departed Ost-in-Edhil around this time. They settled in a forest of great trees, fair and tall, and their realm was soon known as Lothlórien. I hoped to visit them someday and see the mellorn trees that Galadriel was so fond of._

_But, as fate would have it, I was too busy helping Gil-Galad in Lindon. He was not pleased, and nor was Adar, not after what I had told them of Annatar. In fact, Maedhros went to Ost-in-Edhil himself after Celebrimbor became its lord, and, from what I gather, he came face to face with Annatar himself._

_I know not what was said between them. I only know that Maedhros was ill at ease when he returned home. I still remember how his voice shook with anger and hidden fear. “That is no Elda,” he said, shaking his head. “Celebrimbor will not listen to me.”_

_That did not sit well with me, so I decided to talk to Celebrimbor myself. It could not mean anything good if Maedhros was this uneasy about Annatar. I asked Eluréd to come with me; I confess I did not want to go alone, and we passed around Fingon’s fortress to Ost-in-Edhil. Adar did not know what I was doing, and that was just as well. I had a feeling he would not want me going there._

_I met with Celebrimbor at Ost-in-Edhil. By the grace of the Valar, Annatar was not anywhere near; I think he was dealing with business of his own. In Celebrimbor’s chambers I spoke to him, and he confided in me of his own suspicions against Annatar._

_And yet, despite these, he was not about to turn him away. But something good did come out of our discussions: Celebrimbor decided to craft something that Annatar would not know of. For my sake, he said, he would not give him full reign over all their projects._

_He swore to me that he would guard Ost-in-Edhil. I was not sure how that would help, but I trusted Celebrimbor and said no more._

_Oh, what a fool I was!_

_S. A. 1600_

_Sauron revealed himself, and all peace was shattered under the weight of our fear._

_Maedhros came to us shortly after. He held me and Eluréd, and told us that no matter what happened, we would not be torn apart._

_I still had yet to make my Choice. I knew he was not really referring to that, but I heard it in his words._

_I just was not ready to make it yet._

_Many times I wondered if it was the right choice to make._

_S. A. 1695_

_When we heard of Sauron’s attack upon Ost-in-Edhil, Maedhros led his forces to Celebrimbor’s aid. Eluréd and I remained to guard Lindon. I kept Elrond close by; no doubt he thought it unneeded since he was fully capable of defending himself. But I was afraid. For him, for Eluréd, and for Adar._

_I feared especially for Celebrimbor._

_S. A. 1697_

_For the first time since he left, we heard that Maedhros still lived._

_That was the only shred of good news in the full report: Fingon’s fortress was overthrown, and what survivors remained came to Lindon. Fingon himself was superficially hurt; Maglor was all well, thank the Valar. And Maedhros –_

_Adar bore Celebrimbor with him. He had tracked Sauron to Barad-dur and rescued Celebrimbor under the Enemy’s nose. Adar was certain that, had he not carried the Silmarils with him, he would surely have failed._

_But Celebrimbor … He was terribly wounded. Our healers did all they could for him, but it was too late._

_In my last moments with him, he told me of his finest creations: the three Elven Rings. He crafted them after our last conversation and never told Annatar about them. But now Annatar – Sauron – searched for them. He must never know of where they were._

_I promised Celebrimbor that Sauron never would, but before I could ask where the Elven Rings were, he passed away before my eyes._

_That grief has never left me._

_There was no way out. Sauron controlled nearly all of Eregion. Ost-in-Edhil was destroyed, Fingon’s fortress overrun; the Dwarves made their attempt, but Sauron forced them back, and we later heard that the gates of Khazad-dum were closed._

_It was Elrond who revealed to us all a spark of hope. He was planning a refuge in a hidden valley, open to all refugees. A remnant of the Noldor desired to go with him._

_“Come with me,” he said. “You and Uncle Eluréd. And Maedhros and Fingon, and Adar Maglor.”_

_The others were not so quick to retreat with Elrond, but I went with him. I would not leave him on his own._

_Then again, there was one who claimed that Elrond was not truly alone. Yes, Glorfindel of old had returned to us several years before, and planned to join us in Elrond’s new haven. He would protect us both, he said._

_I dearly wished that I had his confidence._

_S. A. 1700_

_I did not think anything could surprise me at this point, but it seems I was wrong._

_While we were guarding the borders of Rivendell, word reached us that Minastir, the King’s Heir of Númenor, arrived in Middle-earth. His forces were said to be great in number and strength, and over the course of the year, they fought against Sauron._

_In the end, Minastir was victorious. He drove Sauron from Eregion, a feat that I once thought impossible. Could it really be so? Might we have peace again for years to come?_

_Fingon met with Minastir afterwards. Sauron was weakened considerably, the King’s Heir said. The Númenóreans would remain for a while to ensure that Sauron would not return._

_I dared not believe it, but as the year passed into the next, and the next after that, the new peace went untouched. Maedhros, Maglor, and Fingon took to travelling the lands, killing Orcs and Wargs and other evils that still remained. With them went the Silmarils for added protector. Whoever else wished to join them was free to do so, and the three of them were well-renowned throughout Middle-earth._

_But when they tired, they came to Rivendell for rest. I was always happy to see them; it was hard to send the messages when they were abroad. And as time went on, their time away grew longer and longer. At one point, Eluréd and I did not see Adar for five years. He returned to Rivendell for a while and spent a few months with us, but afterwards he departed again. His next journey took ten years._

_I did not begrudge him his travels. Maedhros was a protector of the land and its people. Besides, I was quite content with my place in Rivendell. Eluréd took to hunting and riding out with Elrond’s scouts, but he usually returned before dinner._

_S. A. 1725_

_I do not think I truly realized that Middle-earth was at peace until Eluréd asked me, one day, if I was ready to make my Choice._

_The land was healing. My brother and I dwelled in a safe haven free of hurts. Adar was gone at the moment, far away in who-knew-where. But I knew that he was well._

_I think it must have been the Silmarils. I could still feel Lindelen upon my brow at times, like the lingering touch of mist. With Lindelen at Maedhros’ side, it was as though I could feel him nearby if I focused._

_Knowing all of this, I believed myself ready to make my Choice. And so I did._

*

*

*

Elurín opened his eyes. He heard the clip-clop of horses approaching. He looked up as three riders entered the courtyard, dressed in travel-worn cloaks stained with dust. Despite that, they sat straight in their saddles, and no exhaustion lined their noble faces. If anything, their beauty shone greater than Elurín remembered.

Then again, it had been long since he last saw them. 

The first rider dismounted with ease. His red hair danced in the sudden gust of wind; he merely pushed it back, revealing the bright smile upon his face.

“Ah, it is good to be back,” Maedhros said with a sigh.

Tears stung Elurín’s eyes as he gazed at his adar. How he had missed him! Although he knew Maedhros was safe, his heart never lost its longing ache over the years. In that moment, Elurín remembered how he would hurry over and hug his adar, and welcome him home. But now … Well, he no longer had the strength to.

“Oh yes.” Maglor came up beside Maedhros with a sour look. “Now I can fix my broken string.”

“And we can finally have a proper song.” Fingon grinned as he passed Maglor by. “I am sure Elrond will have some spares for you.”

“I wonder where he is,” Maedhros commented, glancing around. “Was he not going to meet us?”

“He will be with you shortly,” Elurín said. “I heard he is a little occupied at the moment.”

The three lords looked around in surprise, obviously not expecting to see Elurín there.

Maedhros was the first to gather his wits. “I will wait then,” he decided. “I would not mind savouring the sights..”

“Suit yourself,” Maglor said, taking his packs from the saddle. “I am going in to look for him.” And with that, he trudged off towards the main houses.

“I will take the horses,” Fingon offered. “No need!” he added, when Maedhros moved forward to help. “I will be back soon.”

Now only Maedhros remained. Elurín watched as his adar stood there for a moment; then he came near to the bench where Elurín sat.

Had he always been so tall? Perhaps Elurín’s memory was tricking him again.

“May I sit with you?” Maedhros asked kindly.

Elurín inclined his head. “Of course, my lord Maedhros.”

“You have an advantage on me, my friend,” his adar said, taking a seat. “You know my name, but I do not know yours.”

Elurín was not bothered by that. His face had changed over the years, so of course his adar would not recognize him right away. But perhaps he would if Elurín continued to speak with him.

“It is of no consequence,” he replied airily. “Sometimes I forget it myself. My brother once suggested that I write it on my door.”

In truth, Eluréd had said it in mingled anger and grief. Elurín did not blame him in the slightest, though it was in times like those when he regretted his Choice. But those moments were few and far between. 

Maedhros seemed intrigued. “You live here, then? I have not been to Rivendell for many years. Nothing seems to have changed about it, at least outwardly. Are there other Edain who dwell here?”

“As far as I know, I am the only adan who lives here,” Elurín said.

Maedhros’ brow furrowed slightly. Elurín would have missed it if he was not already accustomed to his adar’s mannerisms. “You mentioned a brother, did you not? Is he not here with you?”

Elurín made to reply, but at that moment a voice rang out. _“Elurín!”_

Both he and Maedhros turned to see someone striding towards them: a tall Elf dressed in a grey tunic, dark breeches, and an outer robe. His silver-white hair hung to his shoulders, freshly trimmed a week ago.

The initial shortening of his hair had taken place long ago in a moment of intense grief. It had not been an elegant cut, nor had the following confrontation been pleasant.

His brother did not look happy now, either. “Eluréd,” Elurín began.

“You are not wearing your cloak!” Eluréd exclaimed. He shed his outer robe and draped it over Elurín’s shoulders. The cloth was heavy, but Elurín accepted it. “The wind picked up. Did you not notice? You could get a chill!”

“I am alright,” Elurín said, patting his brother’s hand. “Look, Eluréd. Look who has arrived.”

Eluréd went still upon seeing Maedhros. His mouth twisted, but not with ill feelings. “Adar.”

Maedhros stared at them, first at Eluréd and then at Elurín – lingering on Elurín’s face.

His eyes widened. “Êl Gelebren?” he breathed.

Elurín smiled. “It has been so long, Adar.”

Maedhros sucked in a sharp breath. He reached up, hesitating, and touched Elurín’s cheek. “You … What is the meaning of this?”

Elurín drew in a deep breath. “I made my Choice, Adar.”

Several things flitted through Maedhros’ eyes at that. “Why did you not tell me before?”

“You were gone at the time. We found that it is difficult to send you a message while you are travelling.”

Maedhros dropped his hand onto Elurín’s. His thumb rubbed Elurín’s palm, feeling the coarseness of it. Elurín would be lying if he said he did not feel fragile at all in his adar’s hold.

“And you, Eluréd?” Maedhros said eventually, looking up at him. “I see you chose the Eldar …”

“I did,” Eluréd replied. Elurín thought his brother would say more, but Eluréd pressed his lips in a thin line.

Eluréd sighed. Then he grasped his walking stick and pushed himself up. Eluréd immediately grasped his arm, but Elurín gently nudged him away. He was still capable of walking on his own.

“Come, Adar,” he said, holding out his hand to Maedhros. “We will go inside together.”

Maedhros took his hand and stood. “It seems we have much to speak of,” he said.

“Yes. Elrond is preparing a feast for tonight; we can talk more then. But first, you must wash and rest. You have had a long journey.”

“I did.” Maedhros stepped closer to Elurín and Eluréd. “But not a day went by that I did not think of you two. I missed you dearly.” His voice grew thick.

Elurín blinked rapidly to chase away the tears. “I missed you too, Adar.”

“And I,” Eluréd murmured.

Maedhros held out his arms. Elurín moved out of instinct even as old memories surfaced to his mind – all the times his adar enfolded them in his arms. Both he and Eluréd wrapped their arms about Maedhros’ shoulders, and he held them firmly.

Elurín relaxed as he rested his head against Maedhros’ shoulder. It was as though Maedhros had never left. Now, with his adar and brother beside him, he could live out his years in true peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whelp, that's the end for real! Maedhros is really going to stay at Rivendell now, at least until Elurin passes away ... And even then, maybe he'll stay for longer to be by Elured's side. As for what happens to them eventually ... I think they'll return to Valinor (with Elrond and Maglor and Fingon, of course). I imagine that they'd have statues of Elros and Elurin sculpted and set in their garden, but I don't know whether it'd be at Maedhros' house, or Elured's, or Elrond's lmaoo
> 
> But that's all for now! Thank you all so much again for reading this story and following along with the journey :D It was a pleasure to read your comments; they always made my day and boosted my motivation. Thank you thank you!! <333  
> And special thanks to my in-real-life friend who encouraged me through the writing process and helped me come up with ideas when I got stuck <33
> 
> My next fic will most definitely return to the original AU where Maedhros still has only one hand. It also won't be as fluffy as I usually write, I think ^^;; But you hope y'all enjoy it, if you do end up reading it XDD


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